Stanford Anthology for Youth: Volume 23

Citizens 34233, 93401, and 90234, report to the reformatory
immediately,” he commanded, voice slightly muffled by his mask,
one identical to all the citizens, including me.
Letting out a sigh of relief, I imagined how difficult speaking
must be for him. Ordinary citizens were not permitted to speak with
each other, for talking causes arguments, disrupting the peace fabri-
cated by the government. With their heads surrendering in shame,
the three approached the guards by the door, who directed them to
the reformatory. What the reformatory contained was unknown, for
communication of any kind had been banned. Depending on the
severity of their crimes, sometimes those who left for the reforma-
tory never came back. Others were placed in the backs of all lines,
including those for food and other resources. Their appearances
were left unaltered, for uniformity was crucial. Returning back from
my thoughts, I noticed the line I was standing in started inching
forward. People passed me as items passed in assembly lines. Their
masks covering their eyes and faces, gloves covering their hands,
socks covering their feet, and clothing covering their entire bodies.
No glint was to be seen of skin, or of hair, or of anything that made
one unique, separate from others. As a single file line of people
walked past me, I maintained my forward gaze. In their trays sat
identical meals: two slices of bread and a can of sardines, said to fill
one up until evening meal. Scooting up to the window, I observed
the servers. They wore the same uniform as all the citizens, though
their knit gloves were replaced by worn rubber ones. Grabbing a tray
and moving back to my quarters, I sat on a wooden chair, removed
my mask, and began eating in silence. Suddenly, I heard a sound
unknown to my ears.
Creeping out of my room, I made my way to the source of the
sound. I knew I would be heavily chastised if I were to get caught,
but curiosity clouded my senses as I padded through the hallway.
I passed the nursery, which held children until the ripe age of 13,
when they were given their uniforms and welcomed into the world.
As I rounded a corner, I discovered the cause of the commotion. A
man was clutching his side and howling, but what shocked me most

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was his face: he was maskless, so I could see his hair and eyes, mouth
and ears. I had never seen a real face before, not even my own. The
mask was so similar, yet so different. Unlike the cream-colored skin
of our masks, his skin was a shade darker, bronze colored. Even
darker was his cobalt black hair, seemingly almost blue. In contrast
to the rectangular indentations in the mask, his lips were curved into
something I had never seen before; his teeth were pressed together
forming a crescent, small creases adorning the side of his mouth.
A smile, perhaps? His most striking feature, though, was his eyes.
Swirls of grey and white, his eyes seemed like glass shards, arranged
in the perfect array, smoldering to form two gems. I wondered what
color my eyes were.
The sound of footsteps echoing down the hall interrupted
my thoughts. Without a second glance, I bolted down the corridor
and back to my quarter, fearing for my life, as well as that of the man.
Seconds later, I heard the muffled cries of a man begging to be re-
leased, hoping to attain solace. Sliding down the thin plywood door
of my room, I pulled my mask off to help ease my pounding heart.
What was that man doing, and why was he being chastised for it? I
understood that he was to wear his mask, but why? I remembered
the warm feeling that had surged through my core while that man
smiled, replacing the cold void that had settled in my essence perma-
nently. Involuntarily, one side of my lips twitched upwards, then the
other. I wondered what was happening to me; what was this peculiar
feeling? Giving in, I sucked in the cool air around me through my
mouth, allowing it access to my teeth. The warm sensation I had felt
earlier rushed back in, this time covering my insides with tingles. A
sound escaped my mouth. Covering it, I tried to calm myself down
before I would cause a disturbance to those around me. In only one
day, I had broken two rules, more than I had ever broken before.
The second meal rolled around soon enough. Following the
monotony of every day, I got in the assembly line and waited for
inspection to begin. While waiting, I twitched my lips slightly once
again. How was it that this small movement caused a sensation that I
had never felt before? Looking around, I saw others with their
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masks and uniforms on, staring straight ahead. What were they all
thinking? It dawned on me that they were all living lives of their
own; they were the centers of their own worlds, with their own
thoughts to keep them company. But what they didn’t know was that
there was so much more that their lives had to give, so many more
sensations that hundreds died without feeling. Once again interrupt-
ing my thoughts, I noticed inspection had begun. I waited timidly
like everyone else, seeing the officer’s boots pass my sock covered feet
once again.
“Members 23499, 39843, 29101, and 12383 report to the
reformatory immediately,” he said in a monotone voice, one that I
had heard dozens of times before.
I gasped in surprise behind my mask, shocked that my name
had been called. With my head bobbing down, I followed behind
the guard who was leading us down to the reformatory. With every
minute that passed by, mind generated hundreds of possibilities of
what could happen. When we reached the doors of what I assumed
to be the reformatory, I took a step inside, trailing behind every-
one else. Instead of taking me where the three other perpetrators
were going, a guards took me into a separate room. I was seated in a
wooden chair in front of a table, one identical to the one in my room.
I looked around and noticed that all the walls were concrete aside
from a door that was embedded in the far north corner of the room.
Seeing a person bearing a mask striding over to me, I pressed my
back against the seat. In an eerily calm voice, he asked, “Did you or
did you not exit your room during the resting time between meals?”
I contemplated what to say. Should I lie, or was there evi-
dence he was going off of? If I tried explaining myself, I would not be
believed.
Enraged with my lack of response, he slammed his fist on the
table. Splinters jutted out in every direction as I cowered and whis-
pered a small yes. Looking down at me with what I assumed to be an
intense glare, he stated gruffly,
You are not to smile, nor are you to emit any sounds. You will
stay in your compound between meals at all times. If you fail to

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follow these rules, you will be eliminated. Is that understood?”
Trembling, I nodded yes, and he left the room once again.
A few seconds later, a guard came back in and led me back to the
dining hall, from where I was to go back to my room. Tears pricked
my eyes as I sat on my cot, contemplating the day’s events. What
were these sensations I was feeling? Extreme pain overtook me like
a punch to the gut, though it wasn’t physical. It was far more painful
than just twisting or breaking your arm. It was like someone repeat-
edly pounding your head and forcing you for answers, like someone
pushing a lump in your throat that you can’t get rid of despite how-
ever much you swallow. Not knowing when sleep overtook me, I
drifted off into oblivion.
When I awoke, a feeling of grief caught me. Why didn’t I have
anyone to share my dread, my sorrow, or my happiness with? Why
was everyone to shield their thoughts and emotions from each other?
Why was it that everyone was to live a life of void? As I tied the mask
around my head once again, I asked myself, what would happen if no
one wore their masks? And with that, I stepped out to face another
day of emptiness.
154

Sophia Lee *

The Dreams We Have Forgotten

The challenges of not knowing
so far into the future
gathers much hardship and unbearable longing.

A dangerous path of balancing
on the delicate ropes of sure,
the challenges of not knowing.

Now the greed is showing,
for the once pure,
gathers much thirst and longing.

The mind is now bearing,
of a creature,
that yearns to destroy the challenges of not knowing.

Now the animal within is growing,
expanding inside the cage of desire,
for it gathers too much hardship and unbearable longing.

Yet, even though the wants and dreams are overflowing,
you push them down lower
to suffer the chains that hold the hopes suffocating
and force them to be forgotten inside the prison of ceaseless hardship and
unbearable longing.

* Sophia is an eighth grader at JLS Middle School, who yearns to discover what is yet
unknown to our world. She is passionate about drawing and writing, but most of all,
enjoys doing things that fuels her curiosity to explore.

155



Juliet Klinke *

The Lightning Touch

The storm had come.
I hadn’t finished my journey, but Mia’s house was now only a block
away. I started to run across the wet ground, hopping over small puddles
and stones, pumping my arms faster than I was going, when a distant clap
of thunder interrupted the loud slapping of rain against the sidewalk and
cars. I ran faster, climbing Telegraph Hill against the wind. Now I could
see Mia’s house, but faintly, as the rain pounded everywhere around me,
blurring my vision.
Suddenly, I slipped on the wet sidewalk and landed hard on my left
elbow. I heard a sickening CRACK! Pain shot through my arm and into my
shoulder, making my eyes water in pain.
Another flash lit up the sky. The lightning was drawing nearer.
I tried to stand up, but the pain was too intense, and I slipped into
another puddle littered with cigarette butts.
I took a deep breath of salty air, and another flash of lightning illu-
minated the sky.
But this time it was different. I not only saw the light, but I felt the
light. My mind felt as though it was rising through the air, and a million
lightning bugs were coursing through my veins.
But as quickly as it started, it stopped.
I returned to the rain sodden sidewalk, barely conscious. I slumped
to the ground, and right before the world slipped out of view, I glimpsed a
rainbow arching through the sky.

* Juliet is 12 years old, and she loves reading. She also loves sports; she does track and
field, basketball, and volleyball. She would love to have her story published because
she has been working very hard at writing fantasy and would like to hear others’
opinions, negative or postitive.

* “Let Your Hope Go,” Rena Kim (opposite page). Rena is a 7th grader at Castilleja
School who enjoys all forms of art, from dancing, to writing, and even photography.
She draws inspiration from the people, nature, and environment around her.

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–––
I woke up on a bright, cool morning. My mom had opened
the drapes, and pale sunlight danced through my room.
It had been one month and fourteen days since I got struck
by lightning, and I still got a chill whenever a storm blew past San
Francisco Bay.
Through my dusty window, I could see the Golden Gate
Bridge. Its suspension cords hung like a huge harp, glowing in the
sunlight. Early-morning cars were on the bridge, and from my
window on top of one of the many hills, they looked like tiny beetles
scurrying across it, looking for food.
I slid out of my small bed, dressed, and tiptoed quietly down-
stairs, in case Riley was still sleeping. I felt a pang of sorrow. Riley
used to sleep in my room, but since the incident, she had moved to
mom’s room.
But I wasn’t dangerous. Was I?
“But I don’t wanna go!”
My sister had just entered the room, bawling at the top of her
lungs.
“You have to go, sweetie, it’s not an option”, said my mom.
Riley’s blonde hair fell back to her shoulders, and she stun-
ningly resembled my mom, except for her eyes. Only me and my
mom had green eyes, while Riley had brown.
“I don’t want to go to school! NONONO!” Riley screamed.
My mom, sensing a lost battle, sighed and went to pour her coffee.

–––
As I stared at Aptos Middle School, my first thought was that
it was big.
It looked like it took up the whole two blocks, not even con-
sidering the lunch area and its looming walls that cast a shadow that
looked like it stretched for miles.
Putting aside the amazement of my new school, I remember-
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ed hat I needed to find Mia. She was my best friend, and I didn’t
know anyone who was less mature than me except for her.
Finally, I saw her in the plaza. She was hanging with some
girls I didn’t know. One was blonde, and two had brown hair. They
were talking with her, laughing like Mia was the most awesome thing
since the invention of nail polish, which glistened plentiful on their
fingers.
“Hey, Mia!” I waved across the plaza, drawing stares. The
three girls talking with her ceased their conversation, looking at Mia,
then looking at me. Hesitantly, she looked at me like she had never
looked at me before–like she was embarrassed. The three girls cast
disgusted faces at me, like I was something nasty on their shoes. I
walked over anyway.
When I got closer, I was able to take in Mia’s appearance
more. She looked the same: thick brown hair, hazelnut eyes, a few
inches taller than me. But wait.... Was that makeup? And hair dye on
the tips of her locks?
“Oh...hi”, Mia mumbled.
“Hi!” I said enthusiastically.
“Um, these are my friends, Sydney, Madison, and Ava,’’ she
said, pointing at each of them in turn.
The blonde one, Sydney, shot a face at me, filled with loathing
and hatred.
“Why don’t you just like, go away now? We’re kind of trying
to talk here,” she said.
I was dumbfounded that she had said that to me. But it didn’t
matter, because I knew that Mia would stick up for me. I glared at
Sydney, then looked sideways at Mia expectantly, but she just stood
there, shifting her feet and not looking at me.
Still looking at her shoes, she said, “Um...Alyssa? Is it, um...
okay if, uh...you move?”
“Um...I mean, just for now,” said Mia quickly after seeing the
look I was giving her. “You can come by at lunch.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. It was like someone (namely, Syd-
ney) had put the world into a container and shook it, really hard.

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Mia had been friends with me since second grade! I stared at her, lost
for words.
“Um, so, leave. Do you need hearing aids?” Sydney said, toss-
ing her hair. The two other girls, Madison and Ava, laughed rudely.
I walked away slowly, and distinctly I heard Sydney say, “get a
load of her!”
I walked through the doors, my mind still fixed on that
would-be unforgettable scene in my head.

---

During Spanish class, I was able to ponder that conversation
(was it a conversation?) without interruption, due to the fact that
Señora Lucia was oblivious to everything except her teaching plan,
which she was revising.
Why would she leave me like that? How could she be such a
bad friend to me?...But I guess I haven’t been a good friend to her...I’ve
barely seen her over the summer!...But it’s not my fault that I don’t
want to go to her house...After what happened...But she never contact-
ed me either!
For ten minutes, my brain looped in an endless blaming con-
test, stopping when Señora Lucia, who had finally finished revising,
asked me a question that I didn’t understand at all.
She frowned at me.

---

“Alyssa! You’re home! How was your first day? Did you make
any friends? Do you have any homework? Did you see Mia?”
The moment I got home, my mom started bombarding me
with questions. All of her questions floated through my head, unan-
swered. I couldn’t talk about this to my mom; she would make me
stay for two more hours talking about it.
In my room, I stared up at my white ceiling, with the ugly
light. It had been two years since I had gotten this bedroom with

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Riley, and mom still hadn’t bothered to remove the carpet or clean
out the closet, therefore rendering it just a small, shabby room,
though right now it fit me just perfectly.
I looked out my window. Still, the Golden Gate Bridge spar-
kled in the afternoon light, and a sailboat glided across the choppy
waves of the bay.
All around me, there were people living normal lives, not
knowing the existence of a twelve year old girl with all the problems
in the world. They didn’t know anything. I stormed back to my bed,
not caring if anyone downstairs heard me.
I didn’t need them.
I didn’t need anyone.
Right before I drifted off to sleep, a spark ran through my
fingers.

---
I slept in until seven thirty. I wondered why my mom hadn’t
bothered to open the curtains, or wake me up at all. A fresh wave of
fury washed over me like a cloud.
As mom drove me to school, images of Mia and Sydney
interrupted my concentration on my homework. On question five,
instead of writing vol.= lwh, I wrote Mia=SydneyMadisonAva.
As the tires of our old minivan bumped across the road, my
pencil slipped out of my grasp and landed under the front seat.
Urgh! Can’t anything in my life go right?” I said.
“I’ll get it!” Riley said cheerfully, still not fully understanding
that I was in a bad mood.
She reached down to get the pencil, which was now rolling
on her side of the car, and picked it up. She extended her hand out to
me with the pencil, and in that split second that our hands touched, I
felt something pass between our entwined fingers.
“Ow! You shocked me!” said Riley, her lip trembling. I looked

161

down, and where there had just been smooth skin, there was now a
welt as big as her fingernail on her pointer finger.
“Okay girls, we’re here!” our mom exclaimed, the car screech-
ing to a halt.
As I got out of the car, a feeling of déjà vu passed through me.
I felt like that shock that had just happened had happened before,
only to me. Then I realized. It was the night I got struck by lightning.
As Riley flounced off to her friends, an unsettling feeling
settled in my stomach.
I saw Mia again in the courtyard, with Sydney, Madison, and
Ava. I quickly looked down, hoping they wouldn’t see me.
But in science, things were worse. Mia and her new friends
were in the same class as me, and it was obvious that they were steal-
ing glances at me when they thought I wasn’t looking. Then it went
over the edge.
“Oh my gosh. Is that Alyssa? Oh, never mind. I know it in-
stantly from that hair. ”
I heard the laugh from all the way across the room. I just
hoped Mia wasn’t part of it.
“I can’t believe you used to be friends with that, Mia. What a
waste of time! You probably just became friends with her out of pity,
right?”
I clung on to every last hope of Mia. No matter how she had
betrayed me, I still wanted to be her friend.
Please don’t say yes. Please, Mia, don’t say yes, I pleaded in my
mind.
I knew this shouldn’t have been as big a deal as it was for me,
but I couldn’t help it. I locked my eyes onto hers, even though she
wasn’t looking at me.
“Uh...haha, yeah”, Mia stuttered, smiling nervously.
I couldn’t hold it in anymore. All the anger I had shunted
down came bubbling up, ready to explode. I strode over to Mia, my
eyes murderous.
“You know what? I don’t care. You can be these people ’s
friends, because you will never deserve me!” I screamed, not aware
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of the class watching us. “All good friends stick together through
thick and through thin, but that’s not what you’re doing. You’re not a
good friend! So I don’t care about you, or your stupid new friends. I
don’t care!” I screamed, jabbing a finger into her chest.
Right before they connected, a wave of electricity traveled
through my arm like a bolt of lightning. It stopped at my fingertip,
ready to fly at whatever I wanted it to. And at that moment, I wanted
to hurt Mia.
My finger then connected with Mia’s chest.
Ten minutes later, she was sent to the hospital in a coma.

---
“But how? ”
That was all that the nurses and doctors said when I ex-
plained it to them. They listened intently, hiding looks of surprise
when I got to the part of me shocking her. I had tried to explain it to
them, but I couldn’t put into words what happened.
“Well, I touched her, and then there was this kind of shock,
and then it touched her–”
“It’s okay, darling, you need some rest, and when you wake
up, your mind will be clearer,” one of the nurses said. I obeyed her
suggestion, then spent the next night tossing and turning and having
dreams of lightning and thunder and smoke.
Word about Mia’s coma spread like wildfire the next day
at school, but everyone’s versions were altered in a way that none
of them were exactly right. I heard a gaggle of fifth graders talking
about a science experiment gone haywire, while another group of
seventh graders were whispering to each other about a psycho Mr.
Green.
I had no doubt that Sydney, Ava, and Madison had been the
cause of the story about what had happened in the science class-
room, but it had seemed to get lost along the way. Maybe I was imag-
ining it, but it felt like I had seen the three girls way more since the

163

accident. They were always haunting the hallway where my locker
was, and they took the same bus home as me, even though I heard
them talking about the inconveniences of living on the other side of
town.
I wondered how many people actually had seen what really
happened. It could only have been a handful of students, since our
class was small.
I still felt really bad for Mia, as it was my doing that she was
currently in the hospital, but my mind kept flashing back to the time
she said yes, right before I got out of hand.
But I put her in a coma! I shouldn’t still be mad at her.
But she’s the one who started it! I wouldn’t have done that if she
hadn’t been such a jerk.
But for heaven’s sake, she’s in a coma!
I couldn’t make up my mind, and I was still deep in thought
as a boy walked up to me in the hallway. I actually didn’t see him
until he was right in front of me, being two inches taller than me.
Um, are you Alyssa?” the boy asked.
Startled, I came back to reality and responded, “Uh, yes.”
“My name is Isaac. I heard what happened yesterday,” he
explained. “I wanted to talk to you about it.”
I quickly glanced down at the ground. He probably just
wanted to know what happened. But did I really want to tell him? He
probably wouldn’t even believe me anyways. But without asking my
brain for permission, my mouth said, “Sure.”
Okay,” he said, his mouth curving in a smile. “Let’s talk some-
where private. How about the English room? There’s no one in there
right now,” he said, pointing towards the end of the hall, where the
English room was.
As we walked to room 232, I took the time to observe the boy
more closely. He had short brown hair hanging loosely over his light
blue eyes, and his mouth was crooked, like he was always wondering
whether to smile or frown.
When he had closed the door securely behind us, he turned
to face me. He was no longer the happy, round-faced boy I had seen

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a few seconds ago. He now looked very anxious, fidgeting in his
baggy pockets.
“I’m like you,” he said without a warning. This outburst took
a moment to settle in. I opened my mouth, then closed it.
Quickly, he said, “I mean–like I have the same–you....I was
struck by lightning too,” he finished off. I gaped at him.
“You mean, like...you can hurt other people too?”
“Not necessarily. I have powers like you, but I can do other
things with them.”
“What can you do?”
“All in good time. But the reason why I wanted to talk to you
today is something bigger. I’m not the only one that knows about
your powers. Other people at school do, and they’re not your aver-
age students. They recently came to this school to hunt me down,
but since the accident in the science lab, they’ve focused on a bigger
target–you.”
I stared at him. I couldn’t decide whether he was playing a
prank on me or actually telling the truth. Looking into his saddened
eyes, I went with the latter.
“Well, who are the people that are hunting you down?”
“Oh, they’re not just people,” Isaac said. “They’re monsters.
They will fight to kill.”
I swirled this around my brain for a second, feeling like there
was something in my stomach that was fighting its way out.
“If they’re really monsters, then why don’t we see them in the
halls and lunch? Wouldn’t they need to be at school with us?”
“See, these monsters can change form into practically any-
thing they want, including innocent students,” Isaac explained. “It
would actually be much easier, since there are a lot of new kids after
summer vacation.”
“But who is it?” I asked again, realizing that Isaac was avoid-
ing this question, even if I had a feeling in my gut that I already knew
what he would say.
And sure enough, Isaac said, “They go by the names of Syd-
ney, Madison, and Ava.”

165

I had never been less surprised to hear such a piece of sur-
prising news. Looking back, I realized that I should have caught on
to them from the beginning. Those inhumanly murderous eyes?
That’s because they weren’t human, and they were cruel enough to be
monsters.
“So, how do we stop them?” I asked curiously.
“They’ve put up a good fight. I’ve tried to catch them alone
since the beginning of the school year, but they obviously knew I was
going to do that because they hooked up with that girl you shocked,
Mia. They forced her into becoming their friend. But now that Mia’s
in the hospital, they know that we’ll act sooner or later. So they’ve
been watching us more closely, trying to get in the way of any plan-
ning. This was the only time that they weren’t stalking us, so I had to
take advantage of it. Actually, they’ve probably already realized that
both of us are gone, so we should probably end this conversation.”
“But–” I had so many questions. Even though I was relieved
that Mia hadn’t actually picked them over me because she was forced
to, I still wondered why they had picked her.
“We need to leave right now. But Alyssa, don’t give them any
hint that you know what they really are. It’s really important that you
do that for me. It could give us a big advantage, using the element of
surprise. Okay, let’s go!”
We opened the classroom door, and we hurried off to the left
and around the corner. Two seconds later, I heard the sound of three
pairs of footsteps walking into the classroom that we had just been
in.
It was hard, now that I knew what they were, to keep from
looking closely at Sydney and her group (I had since realized that
Sydney was the leader of it all). I kept shifting around in my seat
whenever Sydney passed me, and always sat at the far side of the
cafeteria from her.
I also kept an eye out for Isaac, but I knew that we could nev-
er have any actual conservations with Sydney and her cronies lurking
around.
166

My phone buzzed, jerking me out of my restful sleep, and
looked at my phone. The text was from Iasaac (we had taken a
minute to exchange numbers while Sydney, Madison, and Ava were
changing in the locker room). The note said, Alyssa. URGENT. I’m at
the park. Come ASAP.
I hastily jumped out of bed, my heart racing twice as fast as it
just had. Was Isaac in trouble?
After quickly checking that mom and Riley were still asleep, I
hurried downstairs and opened the door with a creak.
Isaac was standing on my porch.
I was momentarily taken aback, but then my instincts kicked
in, and I started, “How–” but Isaac cut me off.
“Alyssa. They’re coming. Right now. We need to leave.”
My eyes widened in fear. Isaac grabbed my hand, and togeth-
er we jumped off the porch and started running. But we were too
late.
The three things on the road were not anything like the girls
I was at school with every day. Each monster was rusty red, with
huge bodies and small, beady mouths dripping with foam. They wore
something around their body that looked like a carcass of an un-
known animal. Their faces were squashed, like they had run head-
long into a brick wall, and their nose looked like a beak. But the most
concerning part of their new bodies were the razor-sharp, inch-long
talons that jutted out of each finger like an assortment of daggers.
Sydney’s many eyes narrowed maliciously as she studied us
with a look of contentment.
“Well, well, well. The two very humans we needed to see.”
Madison and Ava’s faces contorted into ugly sneers.
“What do you want?” Isaac said loudly.
“Oh, you know what I want. You’ve known what I want since
the moment we stepped into your school. We want your powers.”
“Well, you can’t have them.” I was surprised that my voice
came out strong and clear, because inside I was shaking with fear.
Sydney’s eyes locked into mine.
“Listen, Alyssa. We are not here to hurt you. We just want

167

your powers. Let me touch you and you can leave unharmed. Trust
me.”
“Why would I trust you? You lied to me and put my best
friend in a coma!”
“If you can’t trust me, then why do you trust Isaac? He has
told you nothing about himself, just that he has powers too! And you
don’t even know what his powers are! Stand with us, and you can re-
alize that we are the people trying to make the world a better place.”
“Alyssa, don’t listen to them. I only didn’t tell you what my
powers were to protect you!” I looked uncertainly back at Isaac, but
that was the moment the monsters had been waiting for.
In a blur of claws and teeth, they pounced on us. Sydney went
to me, while the others took on Isaac.
“I told you, Alyssa,” she hissed. “Now you will die an unwor-
thy death, and no one will ever know what happened to you.”
Her deformed fingers touched mine, and I felt like all the
energy was draining out of me. Sparks connected the two of us,
entwined together like a loose rope. But I couldn’t give up now, a
tiny voice in the back of my head said. I wanted to just lay down and
forget everything, but my will to survive took hold.
“NO!” I screamed with as much force as I could muster. I
grabbed some of her stringy hair and pulled hard. She leapt back-
wards, snarling, then sprang on me again with so much force that I
fell on my back, the hard stone pavement rattling my spine.
“Goodbye, Alyssa Mendoza.” Sydney pounced onto me, but
the moment before she hit me, I reflexively threw out my hand in
front of me. I felt the electricity course through me. I was in control
of the lightning.
I touched her with my fingers, and she sprung backwards, her
face frozen in a look of surprise and fury.
As she landed two yards away from me, I stepped close to her
cautiously and prodded her back with my foot. She was unconscious.
I turned to see how Isaac was doing. He had not launched
any attack yet, nimbly escaping the monsters every time they tried to
grab hold of him. Whenever they reached out to claw him, he
168

seemed to melt into the shadows and reappear a few feet behind
them. Then I realized. Isaac could go through shadows.
“Here, let me help!” I shouted.
“No, it’s fine, I’ve almost got them!” he hollered back, right
as he punched Ava with so much force that she flew back and laid to
rest with Sydney.
But as Isaac raised his head in victory, Madison sprung back
from behind him and attacked, leaving a bloody gash across his fore-
head.
“No!” I screamed.
I raced over to Isaac, sprawled across the ground in a pool
of blood, and without thinking, pounced on Madison. She slashed
at my head, hissing, but the now familiar energy coursed into my
fingertips and as I punched her in the guts, she froze, then fell back
in slow motion as she hit the ground, spread-eagle.
I dashed over to Isaac, still lifeless on the concrete.
“No...Isaac...wake up!”
As I dipped my head over his still chest, silently sobbing, his
chest heaved, and he opened his eyes, gasping for breath. I gasped,
my face streaked with tears.
“Alyssa! Are you okay? Did we win?”
And, for the first time since I had got Madison, I looked
around, taking in the three formless masses that were the uncon-
scious monsters.
“Yeah Isaac,” I said, my face shining. “We won.”

---
“Alyssa, let’s go, you don’t want to be late for your appoint-
ment!” Mom’s voice echoed through my room.
I lazily got up, dressed, and went down to the kitchen.
“Make yourself some breakfast, and make it quick!” my mom
said agitatedly. We only have twenty minutes to get to the appoint-
ment!”
Since I had been found with three unconscious bodies (the

169

monsters had turned back to their human selves) and a wounded boy
at five thirty in the morning, I had been taken to anger management
class every week. It helped, but not in the way the doctors expected.
It helped me control my lightning touch.
Meanwhile, the three girls had been shipped off to some un-
known hospital, since no one at the locals knew what had happened
to them. Without them at our school, Mia and I became best friends
again, though I still saved time for hanging out with Isaac.
I opened the cupboard and pulled out some bread. I took a
slice, leaving the bag out, and hurried to the toaster, intending to eat
it on the way there.
As I put the bread in the toaster, a current ran through it,
ending at the tips of my fingers. As it shocked me, I let out an excla-
mation of surprise as a feeling washed over me like all the electricity
was exiting me.
“Are you okay?” mom asked from the front door.
“Yeah,” I said, and smiled. I guess that was the universe’s way
of telling me I didn’t need my powers anymore.
I was free.


170

Kylie Outten *

Noisufnoc

Huh?

I don’t like confusion
It is confusing
What is confusion?
Fondues that lost the C....
Confused?

Confuse
Confusing
Confusion
Confusion makes me confused
Ughhhhhh
Confusion
It is terribly confusing

Am I confused?
I may be confused
It is quite confusing to know
Meh confusion
Bleh confusion
Ugh confusion
Hmph confusion

* Kylie is a student at Blach Middle School. She has an active imagination and likes 171
spending time with her family, friends, and two dogs.

Ummmmm
Uhhhhhhh

Confusion?
Confusing

What?
I’m confused

* “SCREAMING SQUIRREL,” Carl Crum (opposite page). Carl, who is an 8th grade
student at Central Middle School, has several passions, including wildlife and nature
photography, astronomy, carpentry, blacksmithing, reading, and ecological conser-
vation. He aspires to reduce the global trash issue through technology and wants to
create high-efficiency clean energy sources.

172



HATTY STEELE *

A Day at School (Wednesday Bell Schedule)

WRITTEN BY: BASEBALL CAP

^ The Best
EXECUTIVE PRODUCER: HATTY STEELE (WHO IS STILL CON-

FUSED ABOUT WHAT AN EXECUTIVE PRODUCER IS)


DIRECTOR OF PHOTOGRAPHY: ANOTHER BASEBALL CAP

^Not Quite As Cool
(WHY DO WE NEED A DIRECTOR OF PHOTOGRAPHY?)

I am chosen for today’s adventure into the unknown! Of
the thirty-something of us sitting on a hook, or just lying around, I
am the chosen one. As usual, I am placed in the transporting thing.
Everything is dark for a long time. Why can’t it go faster? But then,
I see light. I am raised up onto a new vehicle and secured for the
next stage of my journey. But, instead of my usual journey, there is
something new. I enter an area I remember being tossed around in.
I didn’t realize it was used for anything else. Even without the wild
movement, it isn’t pleasant. It’s loud. Really, really loud. I do not like
this room. I seem to be there forever until my vehicle moves. Hoo-
ray! Then, it’s off to another area that isn’t quite as loud.
I stare out over my brim. This is the first stage of my journey.
Sometimes in this stage, I go to a place with land covered in smooth
snow. Others, I go to an area nearby with tan ground. Sometimes, I
get a change in routine and visit the place filled with mountains first,
as well as fourth and seventh. Today, I go to the place with tan floors.

* Hatty enjoys writing a lot. She thinks it is very fun.

174

It’s not quite quiet, but I take what I can get. Besides, I get to learn
about something called “bowl-ee-ing.” Surprisingly, it has nothing
to do with bowls. Instead, it’s about the social interactions that the
indiginus people have. But only the bad ones. Then, I go to the room
of deadly balls, where, true to its name, balls get thrown at me and
my vehicle. Good thing it has a “catch” function. Or, more accurate-
ly, an “avoid being hit with a ball by either putting arm-claw things
out in front of vehicle and hoping ball lands in them or ducking and
putting arm-claw in front of passenger” function. I think it needs an
upgrade.
I am proud to say I escaped potential doom in the land of
deadly balls with no permanent injuries. I move on to the mountain
room until a loud, annoying sound blares down, and I trek to the
room of silver holes and wood floors. There, I get to stare at a dia-
gram of how rocks came to be. There are things I don’t know on the
sheet because a different one of us is chosen every day, but I do my
best to understand it.
The loud, annoying sound comes again, and I go outside.
My vehicle needs to refuel. Then, I go back to the mountain room.
Again, it sounds. I go to a room of tiny islands of wood. Here, a voice
gives us instructions about things we’d rather do than something we
don’t like doing. Here’s my list:

I’d rather lose my brimm than go back to the room where balls were
flying at me. I’d rather never be chosen again than sit backwards on my

vehicle.
I’d rather be eaten by sharks than go near the washing machine.

I hate cheetaers.

That’s as far as I got before the annoying (and now inter-
rupting) sound came again. I went for one last trip to the mountain
room before being placed in the transporting thing again. I am sad
to leave, even though it’s loud, and I almost got hit with a lot of balls,
and the annoying sound kept sounding, and. . . well, I guess I’m not
too sad to be leaving. But I still can’t wait to be chosen again. (note

175

for executive producer: this is a hint. I am hinting at you. Hint hint,
wink wink.) (Answer: no. I will not only choose you forever. Stop ask-
ing.) I exit the transporting thing and get placed on a multi-colored
mound. It smells like sweaty socks and soup stains. But now, home
at last, I begin to tell the other, less awesome, caps about my adven-
tures. Then, I go find my vehicle’s book of writing stuff down and
start my own section of writing stuff down inside it. (^-^)

176

Carson Tsai *

The Ten-Minute Robberies

Ding-dong! The doorbell rang at Pine Street number ten,
home of John Storm, the one and only mystery solving kid in the
neighborhood. He solved a lot of cases, small and big, but he had
also solved more secret cases for the police.
“I’ll get it,” yelled John, as he flew down the stairs and flung
open the door.
“Morning, Marco,” he panted and received the mail, and a
smile, from Marco, the mailman. John walked to the table and tossed
the junk mail into the garbage, flipped through some magazines, and
picked out a newspaper.
Something had caught his eye. The newspaper headline
screamed, “10 BANKS ROBBED!” Underneath, it said, “No trace.
Gold vaults emptied. But what really stumps the police is that the
robberies happened around the same time, and each one happened
in under a minute.” That was all John got to read because the phone
rang. John reached over and picked it up, “Hello?”
“Is this John Storm?” a voice asked at the other end.
“Speaking,” replied John.
“John,” the voice began, “this is Jim, and I need you to inves-
tigate the ten robberies.”
Jim was the chief of police. He was a large man with a mus-
tache and a tendency to explode when interrupted.
“Sure,” said John. The chief of police seemed very happy
about that. John decided to visit the closest bank to his house that

* Carson lives in Los Altos and goes to Blach Middle School. He enjoys reading
and video games including Minecraft and Mario Kart. His favorite subjects are
Coding Apps Games and More and Creative Writing.

177

had been robbed: the Krim Bank. John walked to one of the desks.
“Hello!” exclaimed the teller. He wore a badge that said Own-
er.
“Hi, um,” John blanked for a little bit, “I was sent here by the
chief of police. Can I see the robbed vault?”
It was the teller’s turn to blank, “Um... well, you see, the gold
somehow returned. and there was more gold in the vaults than what
we were supposed to have, but I can show you something else.”
The teller led him to a trail of pebbles leading out the back
door, “I thought about cleaning them up, but I figured I would just
leave them there. I also found this.” The teller held up a map that had
eleven places. One was knaB mirK, and another was yretemeC ehT.
“Thanks,” said John. He followed the trail of pebbles and
came to a wall at the end of the alley. There was a rock in the corner,
a very strange one, but before he could pick it up, shots rang out.
John raced out of the alley to find the teller on the ground in a pud-
dle of blood.
Later, John laid on his bed, studying the map. He traced
streets and opened his computer. He had decided to research what
was on the corner of Block avenue and 23 Turn street. His result
was the Oak Cemetery. He studied the map again, then turned it
over. His eyes lit up. Everything became a lot clearer. YretemeC
ehT became The Cemetery. As John’s eyes flew over the paper, he
noticed check marks on the back of the map. They were next to the
bank names that had been robbed. The Cemetery was the only place
without a checkmark, but instead, there was a squiggle and a line
sign above it as well as a pm. John flipped it to the right and saw a 12.
12 am. Then he held it up to the light to see if there was anything he
missed. Written inside the paper that said The Cemetery, it also said
Thursday the 12th. Today was Thursday the 12th. John knew where
he would be tonight.
When John reached Oak Cemetery at 12am sharp, he saw a
blazing fire. Someone was there. John crept up to the tomb where the
fire was and peered over the gravestone. A muscular man was stand-
ing there. He had broad shoulders, a sharp chin, large hands, and
178

wore a trench coat and rubber boots. Sunglasses hid his eyes and
the fire casted a long shadow that looked like slenderman. The man
chanted something under his breath. After what felt like a year, the
man yelled, “BREAK!”
A lightning bolt split the tomb stone. Smoke billowed out of
the tomb, and the man coughed. When the smoke cleared, the tomb
had been smashed to reveal the place for the corpse, except that there
was no corpse. Instead of the dead body of a human, there were 50
pounds of diamonds. The man stood there and admired it all. Then,
he heard a clicking sound and whirled around. John had snapped a
picture of him.
“HEY!” yelled the man. John didn’t follow his shout. He raced
off toward the cemetery
gate. Bullets whizzed past his head. John ducked behind a gravestone
and waited. The loud banging of the gun firing stopped.
The man muttered, “Must have hit ‘em.”
The next day, John revisited the alley. There was now a yellow
caution tape around the spot where the teller had been murdered.
John found the strange rock and picked it up. There was a grinding
noise, and the wall in front of him slid open. John put the rock down,
and the wall slid shut. He picked it up again and walked inside. There
was a little cubby that had a note saying, “Put the rock here.” John
put the rock in the cubby, and the wall closed. He grabbed his flash-
light, turned it on, and crept along what seemed to be a ventilation
system. He came to a hole, which had a ladder, and heard voices.
“So there was this boy who took a picture of me opening the
grave,” said a deep voice. It was the man from the cemetery. John
pulled out his recorder and started recording. “Then, I noticed him,
and he bolted away. I pulled out my gun and shot him.”
“Did you see the body?” asked a much slicker voice, which
seemed to hold much more menace.
“No,” replied the first man.
“You are supposed to check if they are really dead, you idiot,”
a third voice. John thought this one sounded familiar.“Where did
you put the dough?”

179

“In the vault.” It was the deep voice again.
John crawled on, found a series of tunnels, and snapped an-
other picture. The voices died.
“Was that a camera?” asked the slick voice.
“Whatever,” said the familiar voice, “the only matter is that
the plan works properly this time. Remember in Japan? We’re lucky
that there is no goody two-shoes Sherlock Holmes person around to
stop us this time. Don’t forget that Sam is going ”
“Whoa,” muttered John and turned around to get out of the
hideout.
Later, half the police force, Jim, and John were surrounding
the alley wall. John picked the rock and one quarter of the police
force entered. The other quarter stayed outside.
Ten police officers, including Jim, slid down the ladder. The
first five were killed on the spot.
“KILL THEM ALL!” a shout from the deep voice boomed
through the hideout.
Jim disappeared, and there was the sound of two people
getting kicked in the groin. John peered over the edge. The man from
the cemetery and a tall, thin man laid on the ground.
“You’re under arrest!” barked Jim. The rest of the officers
dropped into the main chamber. The thugs were cuffed and stripped
of weapons.
“Now,” growled Jim, “tell us who you are working for.”
“I think I’ll tell you that,” snarled the familiar voice. They all
spun around. A cloaked figure stood below the hole, pointing his
gun at the ceiling. All the police looked up to see a glass ceiling hold-
ing back 10 tons of gold and diamonds. “You can call me the Figure,”
he said, evil ringing in his voice, “one shot to the ceiling, and it will
collapse.”
John remembered why his voice sounded so familiar. “The
Figure” was actually the owner of the Krim Bank. The tunnels lead
to the ten banks that were robbed yesterday. The reason the gold and
the diamonds were in the ceiling was because the gold vault of the
180

Krim Bank was right above it. Everything made sense except the
event at the cemetery. John hatched a plan. He stood near the hole
and jumped into it. He landed on the Figure with a crunch and
yanked off his cloak.
“Jim, I have proof that this person is the real criminal,” ex-
claimed John.
“Your proof is bogus,” growled the owner.
John smirked at that and pulled out his recorder and his cell
phone. He showed Jim the
picture (the owner’s eyes popped) and played the recording (the
owner spluttered angrily).
“That is fake proof,” he roared, “and I’m saying nothing–” but
Jim silenced him.
“You are under arrest for theft, attempted murder, destruc-
tion of private property, running from the law, and...”

181





Anuja Ganguli *

The Revenge of the Runaway Chickens

Chapter 1: Happy Chicken Poultry Farm

At the foothills of Vaca Range, bordering the east of Napa
Valley, is a sprawling lush, green meadow. The quiet Lazy River at
the edge of the meadow is stuck in time, adding a strange calmness
to this otherworldly beauty. The entire meadow belongs to Happy
Chicken Poultry Farm, the largest of its kind in the state of Califor-
nia. Mr. Herbert Brown, a short and stocky farmer in his mid-sixties,
owns this natural gem. Every year, thousands of people visit this
place and leave with everlasting memories.
What is not understood though, is that behind this veil of
beauty exists the painful and horrifying life of the weak inhabitants
of the farm, the chickens.
This is a story about the chickens, by the chickens, and for
the chickens, told through the eyes of the youngest member of this
chicken family, Chicken Little.

Chapter 2: Meet the Chickens

I joined this chicken family only a week ago, and I knew

* Anuja is a seventh-grade student at Horner Junior High in Fremont, California.
Academically, Anuja has a keen interest in Math, Science, and English. Anuja
loves to read books of different genres, and in her leisure, she spends time in art,
playing piano, swimming, and DIY activities.

* “three animal portraits,” Aijia Zhang (previous page). Aijia is a thirteen-year-
old girl. If you ever see a girl carrying a violin and a huge unzipped bag contain-
ing a sketchbook running down the sidewalk, it might be her.

184

right away that this was the best place I could have hoped for. I
have a name, Chicken Little, given by our sacred leader Lord of
the Chickens. Our Lord, the oldest rooster on the farm, keeps our
family in order. He is full of wisdom, having seen life at its best and
at its worst. The rest of our crew is quite interesting too. To start,
there is Envy: the only rooster who is always jealous of our Lord,
who thinks he should be the rightful Lord because he is younger
and stronger. Then there is Nosy, Envy’s spy, always poking her nose
into the business of others. Well, our family also has someone who
is always trying to scare the guts out of us–yup, you guessed it, it is
Goosebump. Of course, he has a real hard time scaring people when
Goofball is around. Goofball is the clown of the town; he can make
anyone laugh. Then there are other chickens who just go about the
daily routine of laying eggs. Last but not least is another member of
our crew who is not a chicken but a human. She is Farmer Brown’s
little daughter whom our Lord has named Fancy Fiona; she is our
only human friend.

Chapter 3: My Day was Ruined

It was a gorgeous morning, and a familiar human opened our
coop door. Moments later, Lord led us one by one to the meadows
for a free roam. After a little while, taking me to the side, Lord said
in a rather serious voice, “Child, I want you to understand some hard
facts of our life. It is not all about roaming around free. There is a
time when a chicken stops laying eggs. That is usually a signal that
she will end up on a human’s dinner table at any moment.”
For the first time in my life, I shook with fear. Seeing my
plight, Lord eased a bit, and in a reassuring voice, said, “But you
don’t need to worry, you are the youngest of us all, so these humans
won’t lay a hand on you. Look at me! I am the oldest and still alive,
you will be fine too.”
I must say that my rest of the day was ruined, as the fear of
losing someone somehow always lingered on my mind from that day

185

onwards.

Chapter 4: The Great Massacre

It did not take long for my worst fear to come true. It was
another bright and sunny morning. Lord was doing his usual rounds,
playfully nudging us and making sure we all had our breakfast to eat.
Then, in a moment’s notice, everything changed. The door cranked
open as two hefty humans stepped in. Panic struck all over the coop
as if the chickens had seen death. They started running all over in
total disarray. Goosebump turned pale, and Goofball lost all his
goofiness.
Then, one of the humans with an evil smile spoke in a gruff
voice, “Say goodbye to each other, we will swing a net over you, and
if you are caught, too bad!” The coop was going berserk, and I almost
froze to death. Expectedly, the humans took no notice of our fear,
as the two started talking to each other, “Quite an order, huh? Two
thousand chickens for the Tummy’s Delight Restaurant–Farmer
Brown’s getting rich, huh?” Then the heartless two sprang into action
as they swung the net once, twice, thrice, again and again, each time
catching about 20 chickens. I could not take it anymore and closed
my eyes. The next few minutes, I did not know what happened. Then
I heard the coop door close.
The two humans had left with their catch. I was spared,
but my eyes searched for all the others. My heart pounded as I felt
reassured to see Lord, Envy, and Goofball still standing in the coop.
Thereafter, I stopped looking around as our huge family had shrunk
into half. For the next ten minutes, no one moved an inch as the
coop was engrossed in haunting silence. The quietness broke as the
door opened gently and Fancy Fiona squeezed in with a wide smile,
ready to play with us. Immediately she paused, puzzled at the empti-
ness of the coop. Anticipating that something horrifying had hap-
pened, she broke into tears. She then quietly walked to our Lord, and
they spent about ten minutes together.
186

Chapter 5: The Lord Speaks

Ater Fancy Fiona left our coop, Lord walked up slowly to the
front. In a somber voice, he addressed, “Listen to me, my family. As
chickens, we have always believed that we are born weak. Therefore,
we have dedicated our lives to keeping humans happy and healthy.
When a few of us were picked up for slaughter, we felt sad but moved
on. But I hope the scale of the brutality today has awakened you and
cast a doubt on your mind that next time it could be any of you. So,
why wait? I call on you today to come together and revolt, to show
that we are together and we want justice.”
Envy sneered, countering Lord in a mocking voice, “So exact-
ly how do you want to revolt with your strong rooster legs?”
Ignoring Envy, Lord spoke in a solemn voice, “Tomorrow,
while our pain is fresh in our minds, we will escape our coop togeth-
er, and in a group, we will invade Highway 121.”
Envy looked agitated and shouted out at Lord, “You have lost
your mind. You have grown old and so you have crazy ideas. Chick-
ens are not created to revolt. Period.”
Lord looked at Envy, then looked at us and said, “Dear
Family, this is my last request. Whether we succeed or we fail in our
escape, we can make a statement. Show the world that we too can
stand up for our rights!” Darkness took over the sky as we waited for
dawn.
Chapter 6: The Dramatic Escape

Early morning, after the rooster call, Lord woke us all, telling
us to be prepared for the grand escape. Then we waited and waited.
Every minute felt like an hour. Around 7 AM, the door opened gen-
tly, and we saw Fancy Fiona accompanied by her dad. Fiona pushed
the door open wide, and looked happy. Her dad said, “Child, just ten
minutes here, and then we go and get ready for breakfast.”

187

I thought to myself, “So when is the escape happening and
how?”
Just then, I saw Fiona fall to the ground, moving like a fish
out of water, and crying in pain and anguish, “Daddy! My tummy
hurts really bad! I can’t take it anymore!” Farmer Brown looked com-
pletely clueless and tried to comfort his beloved daughter. On Fiona’s
repeated insistence, he took Fiona in his arms and rushed out of the
coop.
The coop door was still wide open, and our Lord turned to us
and ordered, “We start our escape now.” Envy hesitated and tried to
say something, but the rest of us just followed Lord out of the coop
door into the open. The march had begun, and for the first time, I
felt a purpose and resolve in my life. At last, we chickens had stood
up for our rights.
Chapter 7: Making a Statement

As we were about to step onto Highway 121, Lord stopped.
Looking at us, he said, “Thank You for your courage. You have
proved that weakness exists in our minds, and if we can overcome it,
we can do wonders. Good luck to you all.”
Our final push started as we rushed onto the highway all at
once, four thousand chickens standing up for their right to survive.
What followed was mayhem, with cars crashing against each other.
The highway traffic came to a halt. As far as I could see, the entire
highway was under our control. The humans looked helpless, stuck
in their boxed machines with nowhere to go. It felt good to be in
charge for the first time in our lives.
We knew there would be consequences to our actions, but
we did not care, for this was the first time we felt a sense of pride.
We learned that strength lies in our self-belief. If we could do it, then
there is no one in the world who is truly weak–weakness is created in
our minds and it is only our minds that can shed it.
188

Rebecca Kapiloff *

The Life and Opinions of a Cat

I stalk my giant owner through our cozy mansion: through
the room with the couch and into the room with the really big
bed. My tiny stomach rumbles as I watch my owner take a seat at a
wooden table thing he calls a desk and opens a funny blinking thing
that changes color. Since he hasn’t noticed me, I rub my furry head
against his rough jeans and yell, “Feed me!”
He rolls his chair backward and bends over to look at me.
“Meow to you too,” he responds, before turning back to what he was
doing. Can’t he tell that it is lunchtime? Turning my back to him, I
saunter to the door frame and give a high-pitched meow.
“Go and play,” he baby-talks, his eyes glued to the chang-
ing-colors blinky thing.
“This is infuriating,” I exclaim, before a slow mischievous
grin appears under my wet nose. Since he isn’t going to follow me to
my dish, so I am going to get him into the food room the cat way.
I trot into the kitchen and jump onto the silver marble count-
er where my food is sitting. The silver cans sit in a neat stack in front
of the blue-painted walls. Using my small brown paws, I nudge them
to the edge. My tiger-print body gives the top cans one large push,
and they fall to the ground, making a large crashing sound as they
hit the shiny tile floor.
My owner sprints out of the room and glares at me with
disappointment as he bends down to pick them up. I jump off the
counter, onto his curved back, and then onto the floor in front of his
face. As he lifts his head, he sees me hovering over my clean, shiny

* Rebecca is an 8th grader at Blach Middle School. When she is not hanging out 189
with her family, she is ice skating, baking, or writing an amazing story.

* “The Cat’s Blank Stare,” Natalie Ward. Natalie is an eighth grader at Central
Middle School who enjoys drawing, painting, and spending almost too much
time with animals–especially her feline companions. She spends long periods of
time watching animation, loves rain, and greatly prefers not failing tests.

190

food dish.
“Oh, I see,” he realizes. “You are just hungry.”
“Like duh. Why do you think I used my energy to knock my
food onto the ground? Belly rubs?” I meow.
He opens a can and lets its contents slide into the bowl. I take
one lick at the tuna and my hunger is satisfied. As my owner throws
out the can and returns to the bedroom, I leap up to the wide win-
dow ledge and stare out a portal to the outside that my owner calls a
window.
A red car rolls by on the street as two mini giants walk in the
other direction on a mini street. Tall trees with long branches sway
in the September breeze and is that... a hummingbird? A small green
and yellow bird flies towards me and dips its head to look at the
flowers hanging underneath the view of the freedom land. I charge at
the hummingbird, and I slam into a big barrier. Shaking my head, I
look up. The bird ignores me and goes about its business. I don’t give
up hope as my paws bang against the forcefield. The hummingbird
flutters up in front of my face and blows a raspberry before moving
on to the next house. “Some rude piece of food,” I mumble under my
breath and kneel on the windowsill. I stare out the window into a
world of possibilities and sassy hummingbirds before I fall asleep.
Waking up, I drop down off the windowsill and take a stroll
back to my owner who is now lifting weights as part of his daily
workout routine. I saunter up to his leg and nip it as to say, “Come
play with me.” He scowls and shoos me away. Annoyed, I stroll out of
the room and come back with a mouse that squeaks. I give him my
very biggest kitty eyes, but all he does is take one glance at me before
picking up a different set of weights. Fine, I think to myself. I’ll just
leave and come back in a few minutes, lick my fur ‘til it sparkles.
Leaving the mouse there, I settle on the couch in the living room and
clean myself.
After what seems like a while, I return ready to play. My own-
er is on the ground, using his arms to hold himself up. What a silly
thing to do. Bringing the mouse underneath his face that happens to
be leaking, he scowls before throwing it in the other room. Mad, I

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nip his nose which springs him onto his feet screaming, “What could
you possibly want from me?”
I turn around to walk out before looking back at him. Sigh-
ing, he follows me into the living room where the cat toys are.
Watching my owner pick up a stick, a small gray mouse
spring to life. The mouse runs around the room as I chase it. Leaping
into the air, I land on the mouse’s head, capturing it with my incred-
ibly sharp claws. The mouse becomes limp before I get bored. Sitting
on the mouse, it slithers from underneath me and leaves to seek
safety on the other side of the room. Stalking it very slowly, I sneak
across the room until I get close enough to attack. Hopeless and
trapped in a corner, the mouse starts to climb the wall. I jump up to
grab it, but it is out of my reach. Giving up, I leave, and eventually, so
does my owner. Ha, I forgot he was there. Oh well. Trailing behind
him, I jump up onto the really big bed where he collapsed. Wanting
to rest myself, I curl up next to him, and I realize that it is great to be
a cat.

192

Mia Green *

A Room Full of Dogs

THE REPTILE MUSEUM was the place to go if you were
looking to find snakes, if that wasn’t obvious.
Big snakes, like anacondas, small snakes, like Garters, and
just about anything and everything in between. Those were the main
animals at THE REPTILE MUSEUM, but there were also toads, sala-
manders, frogs, and other lizards. There was something for everyone
at THE REPTILE MUSEUM. They even had huge terrariums for
ants with glass split in the tunneling so you could see and track the
motion of every single worker in the colony.
The most interesting ant colony living at the museum was the
Asian Marauder, due to some of the ants, the majors and the super
majors, who were an immense size, and who the smaller workers
would grip onto to get around easier.
THE REPTILE MUSEUM was such a large habitat for any
animal, that the name of it must be said boldly, or even shouted.
It didn’t make sense, but it was a tradition known to anyone who
had visited THE REPTILE MUSEUM, and there was even a sign in
front of the lobby with a small doodle of a snake on the side, saying
to shout the name. If you didn’t want to shout the name, you were
cursed by bad luck. Trust me, you would definitely not like to have
bad luck in THE REPTILE MUSEUM.
This tradition was held up diligently by Peter Stone, the kid
sitting in the back of the school bus with a picture of a gecko on his
shirt. He was a quiet kid but showed no mercy when saying the three
words.

* Mia is an eighth grader at Central Middle School. She is 14 years old. 193

The bus arrived with a hiss from the tires. Peter’s lips were
dry because of the lack of water provided on the bus. The bus driver,
who was the principal (with, perhaps, a strange hobby) got up from
the front chair with a smile and soothed the chatter between stu-
dents.
“Quiet down, everyone!! Please, now! Three...”
He counted down, and everybody focused on him with
excitement. “Okay, okay. The chaperones and I will be putting y’all
in groups of four,” he said, half muffled, throwing cashews into his
mouth with his right hand and holding a bag of nuts in his left.
“Then you’ll get stamped on the back of your hand in the lobby,
which will grant you access to the wild reptile museum!”
Peter gave a cough, for the lack of shouting the name, but
then raised his hand. “Principal Caldwell, will we get to visit the
crocodiles? And the alligators? I’ve written all about them in my
journal, and I’d like to add more notes–”
Slow down there, Peter! I don’t even know the difference
between those animals! But yes, you’ll see all kinds of creatures at
the Museum of Herpetology.” He chuckled, then opened the doors of
the bus. Kids scrambled out of the bus left and right, and Peter was
the last to exit, collecting his journal (brown, with a small snake on
it that he made using a potato stamp) and his pencil. He himself had
a small “museum” of his own at his home, not one with crocodiles or
alligators, but with three ball pythons and one green-tree, which he
had already written his observations about.
Once everyone was out of the bus, the groups were sorted,
and somehow the cluster of students was organized into ten lines
with four people each and a chaperone. The doors to the museum
flew open, and it was quite a sight.
The top of the museum was shaped like a dome; a mural on
top was an illustration of a rainforest, with animals flying, swim-
ming and lurking amongst the forest floor, and each animal had two
circular glass orbs where their eyes would be, letting sunlight shine
through and giving the entire atrium a warm glow. The gift shop was
to the right, and it was filled with plush animals, journals, and even
194

terrariums and books. A guide, dressed in khakis and a matching
hat with a small nametag on the side labeled Brian, stood happily at
the entrance, greeting students. As Peter’s group lined up with their
hands outstretched, waiting to receive stamps, Brian happily greeted
the students.
“Hello everyone! Quiet down, quiet down... Welcome to the
California Museum of Herpetology, or as us reptile folk like to call it,
CMOH.” He smiled. His arm was held in front of his chest, and there
was a small toad sitting on his arm, its two eyes blinking slightly out
of sync. “This is Hopper. He’s an Oriental Fire Bellied Toad–now,
does anyone here own frogs, or any sort of amphibian? If you have,
you may have heard of these guys, they’re pretty popular beginner
pet frogs. They can secrete toxins from their skin. You don’t want to
touch your eyes or mouth when you’re handling this one.”
Kids pointed and chattered among themselves at the animal.
Peter, however, was not talking to anyone, but scribbling a new log in
his potato-stamp journal about this captivating new species.
Peter felt someone tap his shoulder. A girl with dark brown
hair was looking back at him. “What is that? Is that an assignment?”
He stared back and awkwardly scratched the back of his
head. “No, I just like reptiles. I figured this would be a good place to
observe them, so, you know...”
The girl smiled. “I know. I like dogs,” she said with a smile,
and opened up a heart locket that she was wearing as a necklace. It
was sort of big and clunky to be a necklace charm, but Peter just let
her enjoy herself.
Inside the locket was a picture of a small dog, with brown
eyes and a curly brown coat. It almost looked like her, but as a dog.
“His name is Harvey, he’s a Cocker Spaniel. My family and I found
him in a parking lot.”
Peter nodded. “I have a snake at home who I adopted from a
rescue center. He was living in the sewers for nearly a week before he
was taken to safety.” The girl tilted her head. “A snake? Why don’t you
just get a dog? They’re a lot cuter and fuzzier, and they’ll cuddle with
you when you’re scared. Snakes will just make you more scared,

195

won’t they?”
Peter looked in disbelief. “Well, maybe to some people,
but not to me. I love them!” He opened up to a page in his book of
observations and pointed to a picture in it of him, a few years young-
er, holding a skink in his hand, labeled at the bottom, Peter with a
Friend.
She chuckled a bit. “That’s nice. Your name is Peter? Mine is
Avril. Like the singer. Well, I wasn’t named after her, of course, that
would be weird.”
“Nice to meet you, Avril.” Peter chirped awkwardly, then
continued to listen to the presentation. It seemed that the kids were
starting to form into their groups once again. Peter was always one
to think quickly, so he stuck by his chaperone beforehand so he
wouldn’t have to move.
“Well, I think that’s it for our rules! Now, go forth with your
groups and explore our wild jungle!” Brian shouted enthusiastically,
but cradling his toad carefully so as not to scare it.
Kids went off in their groups through four pathways, and Pe-
ter’s group headed towards the hall that was covered in rocks around
the entrance to give it the appearance of a cave. A sign hung above it
labeling the hallway “The Frog Exhibit.”
The lighting inside was sort of dim, and fake vines hung from
every corner. The walls were made of rock just like the entrance, and
lined up in rows were terrariums, each inhabited by one or two crea-
tures. Row by row, kids scattered and skimmed over the habitats, but
Peter examined every cage, writing notes as he went along.
“Hey, you’re going really slow, the rest of the group are at the
poison dart frogs,” Avril bothered and poked his shoulder.
“I want to enjoy the animals,” Peter said sternly with still
laser-focus on the green tree frog he was scribbling a diagram of.
“Okay, Mister ‘Frog Boy,’ go ahead and spend five hours ‘observing’
these animals. By the time you’re done with three of them, this entire
trip will be over,” Avril hissed, and walked off to join the rest of the
group at the poison dart frog exhibit. Peter scoffed and put the fin-
ishing touches on his diagram, then walked up to her. “I’m sorry if I
196

made you upset, but this is really important to me. Here’s a thought:
Imagine going to a museum of dogs and Harvey was the main exhib-
it. That’s how I think about this place. Except not for dogs.”
“A room full of dogs,” Avril snickered.
“A room full of dogs.”
“I guess I see what you mean. And yeah, Harvey would defi-
nitely be the main exhibit in a room full of dogs,” she cheered. “He’s
the best. Well, the best dog, at least. Your snakes would be the main
exhibit at a place like this.”
“Thanks,” Peter said with a smile. He was glad they were see-
ing eye-to-eye, but he did really want to use this as an opportunity to
fill his log up, so he walked to the next room, surrounded by animals.
In this one, there was a desk that, still replicating the style of
a cave, had a log cut in half as the table surface, with a worker stand-
ing behind it. This worker had the same uniform as Brian, but her
name tag read Liliana. She was holding a lumpy, brown toad covered
in warts, yet somehow she was petting the animal on its head, with
one finger. “Hello, Liliana. I’m Peter,” he formally introduced himself.
“Hello, Peter! Would you like to pet Mortimer here? He’s a
Cane Toad, an extremely invasive species here in the United States.”
She held out her hand, carrying the toad that burped almost on cue.
Peter stroked it on it’s head, and Avril did as well, but quickly
wiped her finger off onto the desk secretly. “This is cool and all, but I
don’t see why you would want to keep an amphibian as a pet,” Avril
sighed. “They don’t seem very friendly.”
“Amphibians and reptiles aren’t like cats or dogs, definitely,
but they are such an interesting learning experience for adults and
children alike. Plus, they don’t require as much upkeep as different
furry friends,” Liliana answered confidently, with her eyes on the
toad.
It seemed that all people who had worked with frogs or toads
had unshakable focus.
“I guess...I just still don’t see the use of having a hairless pet,
if all you do is watch it hide all day,” Avril sighed, hoping to find pur-
pose.

197

–––
Exiting the frog exhibit was an atrium with a cafeteria, linked
to the gift shop from the other side. The other groups were already
eating, and Peter’s group sat down to enjoy their meals before con-
tinuing their tour.
Sipping chocolate milk, Peter looked over his logs so far, and
Avril watched over his shoulder.
“Peter, how are you enjoying the reptile museum so far?”
Peter nearly jumped out of his chair, and spat out his choco-
late milk. “Did I do something wrong!?” Avril panicked.
“Yes!! You always must shout the name!” Peter cried and
sobbed into his arm.
Avril gave him a confused glance. “What are you talking
about!?”
“The name must be shouted, or it’s bad luck!”
“Says who!? That’s just a crazy superstition!”
“Well, if you just ruined my entire tour, that’s you to blame!”
Peter glared.
“People have been saying the name the entire time without
shouting, nothing bad happened!” Avril, dazed in confusion, shout-
ed.
“It’s different. If you say the real name of the museum, it
doesn’t count, but only when you say–”
“What, the Reptile Museum?” She hissed. Peter nodded
out of defeat, accepting that the rest of his day could be in possible
misfortune, and finished his lunch cautiously. Avril’s mom was the
chaperone and had just finished ordering her lunch from the cafe, so
she returned with a tray of food to her ‘flock’ of students.
“What did you guys think of those awesome colored frogs

* “Your Classic Comic Book Shock,” Kristiana Husbands (opposite page). Kris-
tiana is a spirited 8th grader at Central Middle School whose interests include
drawing and painting, basketball, playing cello, and ranting passionately about
useless topics. She likes being involved in many things and because of cello, has
also picked up guitar and ukulele as small hobbies in recent years.

198



“Dart frogs,” Peter muttered under his breath.
Avril gave him a glance. “Mom, they’re called dart frogs. They
were awesome.”
“Great to hear you enjoyed those animals!” she said, way too
enthusiastically, to the point where it almost sounded fake. “Which
exhibit should we go to after we finish our lunch, group?”
“The snakes and the alligators.” Avril thunked the table as she
said it. Peter looked at her with wide eyes and shook his head no.
“C’mon, you love snakes, why are you so hesitant??” Avril
whispered.
“Because of the bad luck! I would never forgive myself if I
somehow made the alligator escape his enclosure or something!”
Peter screeched. “We should play it safe and visit the lizard habitat,
Mrs. Baker,” Peter politely suggested.
“Well, Peter, Avril suggested the snake exhibit first, so I think
we’ll visit that, then the lizards.”
Peter gave a sigh of disbelief. Just like that, his dream field
trip was over. He pushed his fork around the pasta his mom had
made him, in the shape of tiny dinosaurs. Maybe she was right, may-
be it was just a silly tradition. He didn’t even know how he picked
it up, but when he did, he had made sure to follow it ever since. It
might have been silly for getting angry at Avril, anyway, because if it
was true, the bad luck would have been on Avril, not him.
Mrs. Baker tapped the table with her fingers, waiting for
everyone to finish their lunches. Most of the groups eating at the
cafeteria had already left and gone to their next stop on the list, but
Peter’s was still waiting, and eating. The other two in the group,
Brandon and Abigail, were eating carrots and apples, making loud
crunches with every bite. Peter hadn’t paid attention to them earlier,
but they were extremely slow eaters, and the dull crunch, crunch
drowned out the background noise of the cafe. “Is everyone ready to
visit the snakes?” Mrs. Baker asked, dragging out the S in the word to
make a hissing sound. Needless to say, it wasn’t funny.
“I am, Mrs. Baker!” Peter raised his hand.
Avril nodded. “I am as well.”
200