Stanford Anthology For Youth: Volume 19

okay?” I tell her trying to sound as brave, and calm as possible. 151
“Maddy can you see anything? Can you move?” I ask Maddy, try-
ing to find a way to get her out of the basement.

“All I see are boxes, my hands are zip tied together but my
feet are free.” Maddy replies, her voice starting to become more
steady, gaining more control of her emotions.

“Okay, that’s good. I want you to get up and try to find a way
around these boxes, to get to me because both my hands and feet
are tied together so I can’t move, but be quiet.” I say. “Do you
understand?” I ask clarifying that she understands the plan.

Maddy replies “Okay, I’ll try.”

I roll on to my knees and push up with my bound hands so
that I am standing up straight. I quietly start walking, my bare
feet barely making a sound on the cold concrete floor. I look for
an opening in the wall of boxes surrounding me. At first I can’t
see any but as I walk around the perimeter of the space I notice
a little crack in the boxes. “Liv I found a little space between
some boxes but I don’t know if I can fit through it.” I say to Liv,
she’ll know what to do.

“Okay, first just try to squeeze through but if you can’t try to
move the surrounding boxes without making them fall,” Liv tells
me. I get parallel to the space and raise my hands above my
head and start slowly shuffling, through the space. “Maddy, can
you fit?” I hear Liv ask me.

“Barely, but I think I can do it.” I reply tensely, scared that
I might knock down the boxes. I start to reach the end of the
crack, and my arms are getting tired, making it harder to hold
them up. I can feel the tears starting to come.

“Maddy are you okay?” Liv asks in a concerned voice.
“Yeah, it’s just my arms are getting tired.” I reply with my
voice shaking. Okay Maddy hold it together, deep breath. I think
to myself as I continue to shuffle down the aisle.

I keep my eyes on the wall of boxes, searching for Maddy
to emerge. I see something move towards the end of the row of
boxes, I think it’s her foot. “Liv I got one leg through!” Maddy
tells me with as much excitement she can possibly muster up in
this situation.

“Okay you’re doing great, just a little farther!” I tell her in an
encouraging voice. Slowly the rest of her body emerges from the
wall of boxes. Maddy runs to me and relief sweeps over me now
that I know for sure that she is okay, for now at least. “Thank
God you’re okay.” I tell her as she bursts into tears.

“Liv what do we do now?” she asks me, relying on me to get

152 us both out of here.
“We need to find something to cut these zip ties, so look

around for something sharp, okay?”

I look around, searching for anything that could be sharp
but all I see are boxes. “Liv I don’t see anything sharp.” I tell her
starting to get worried.

“Just keep looking there has to be something sharp around
here.” Liv replies obviously getting upset. I start walking
around the room some more, looking even closer for something
sharp. I see a small pile of boxes, about three, in a corner of the
room, maybe there will be something sharp in those boxes, I
think to myself. I look into one of them and there isn’t anything
sharp, it is filled only with olds flannels. I move on the another
one of the boxes, this one is filled with school supplies.

“Liv, I found scissors!” I say, excitement laced in my voice.
“Okay, bring them over here.” Liv says, sounding relieved. I
hurry over to where she is sitting and cut of the zip ties around
her ankles and wrists. “Okay now hand me the scissors I’ll cut
off the zip tie around your wrists.”

I stand up shaking my wrist out. “Now we need to find a way
out of here, and we can’t go through that door,” I say as I glance
over at the wooden door that obviously leads inside the house.

“I think I saw a small window when I was looking for the
scissors,” Maddy said. We walk around the wall of boxes that
used to separate me and Maddy and on a wall I see the window
just barely higher than my head.

“Okay we have to break the glass” I say feeling a plan come to
me.

“Are you sure?” Maddy asks, “Won’t he hear us?”
“He might but that doesn’t matter.” I reply, preparing to
explain the plan to Maddy, “Once we break the glass I’m going to
boost you up and you’re going to crawl through that window and
run like hell to go get help. Do you understand?”
“Yes but what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to try my best to get out too but there might not
be time. Maddy, all you need to worry about is running to go get
help. If he hears the glass break he is going to come down here
and if I’m not out by then, you need to run even faster because
the faster the police come the faster this man can get locked
up, okay?” I tell her trying my best to stay calm. “Now, lets find
something to break this window.” I see a brick in the nearest
corner and I bolt to it and pick it up running back to the window,
I hand it to Maddy and start lifting her up so she can reach the

window. “Are you ready?” I ask. 153
“Yeah, I love you, Liv.” she says as a tear silently rolls down

her cheek.

I swing my arm at the window as hard as I can, releasing
the brick. SMASH. The window cracks all throughout the glass
and the brick leaves a hole in the center. I take my hand and
clear the rest of the glass in the window and with the help of
Liv I push myself through the empty window. Once my entire
body in through the hole I stand up and start sprinting onto
the street. The street is lined with houses. Which one do I go to,
which one will have the people that will help me and Liv? I spot
a house with a man and woman with one kid around Liv’s age
and I sprint to their yard. “Please, help me. Call 911. Me and my
sister Liv were kidnaped and kept hostage.”

“Yes of course come inside.” the woman says, a look of
concern covering her face. She, her family and I run into their
house. While the woman dials 911, the man introduces himself
and his daughter to me.

“Hi, my name is Thomas, and this my daughter, Meredith,
my wife Addie, is calling 911 right now.”

“Thank you so much, my name is Maddie.” I reply to Thom-
as. I turn to Addie, “Could I talk to them?” I ask her.

“Yeah go ahead.” she replies, handing me the phone.
“Hello, this is 911 could you tell me what is going on?”
“My name is Maddie and my older sister, Liv and I were
kidnaped last night. I escaped with her help but I don’t think she
did. Please hurry.” I say to the woman on the phone, my voice
wavering as I start to cry, scared for Liv.
“Okay, the woman who was talking to me earlier told me
the address that you are at right now so the police are on their
way to that address right now, but when they get there they are
going to need you to tell them the house where you were being
held so we can save your sister. Do you think you can do that?”
“Yes, I can.”

I’m almost out of the window when I feel my body get pulled
aggressively back into the basement.

“What the hell did you just do?” A deep voice growls into my
ear.

“I just beat you in your sick game.” I snarl back at him, “My
sister is free and safe, and there is nothing you can do about it.”
Right as I say that I feel something press up against my back.

“Oh yeah, you feel that? Say another word and I pull the trig-
ger.” He says, “Now walk.” He leads me towards the door. “Open

154 it.” I turn the silver knob and walk through the doorway.
What is he doing? Why is he taking me into the house?
“Lets go meet the police sweety.” he says, sounding like he

would be smiling, if I could only see him.
Why does he want to go see the police? Shouldn’t he be try-

ing to run away? We turn the corner of the hall way and I see
the red and blue lights through the curtains of the window next
to the door. “Go on, open the door,” he says, the gun still pressing
against my back. I pull the door open, preparing to see a crowd of
police.

“MASON WOOD, PUT THE WEAPON DOWN AND RE-
LEASE THE GIRL!” a police officer yells.

“I will on one condition, she tells you her name.”
“Sir we already know her name, just let her go.”
“No, I want you all the hear her say it.”
I clear my throat, “My name is Olivia Rose Jenkins.”
“Didn’t I tell you I would pull this trigger if you spoke.” he
says, pulling the gun up to my temple.
“BANG.” The pressure of the gun against my temple and his
grip on my arm releases. I see a few police officers run towards
me and I wonder how I’m still alive. I should be dead, he should
have shot me. I turn around to where Mason was standing and I
see his giant body lying, crumpled on the ground.
“Liv, are you okay? We need to get you out of here.” An of-
ficer says gently to me.
“Yeah, I’m okay. Where’s my sister?”
“She’s with the paramedics over in the street. Come with me
and you can see her.” The officer leads me across the front yard.
I see the ambulance and run towards it, needing to see Maddy. I
see her and quickly close the gap between us, wrapping her in my
arms.
“Thank God you’re okay. I’m never letting you out of my
sight again. I love you so much.”

*isha saNghvi 155

The Seed of Hope

The world I know is filled with hope,
Of people who wish and aspire.
This world I know would be a better place,
If we encouraged others to dream, love and inspire.

My hands are the simplest of magicians,
Casting the most powerful spell,
Planting the first seed of change,
And the next generation of hope as well.

When watered with kindness, that seed of hope
Flourishes and blossoms into a beautiful rose.
And when you picked me up, my rose grew again.
For no love is as strong as the love of a friend.

You have inspired a season of change,
A new world that knows no hatred or pain.
You have the power to plant that seed of inspiration,
And one day, your kind efforts will act as motivation.

The world I know is filled with hope,
Of people who wish and aspire.
This world I know would be a better place,
If we encouraged others to dream, love and inspire.

* Isha Sanghvi is an avid writer, blogger, and debater. From finishing her latest piece of
prose to singing and spending time with her friends, she has big dreams for a future of
being a professional author.

156 *rEECE KUraMOtO

Set Free

The little squirrel’s blank eyes are glassy and emotionless as
she watches leaves shake morning dew off of their pearly green
coats. Her ears don’t pick up the everlasting white noise of the
gushing stream that weaves through the grassy valley. Inside the
little squirrel is the perpetual presence of emptiness. As she sits
up and flicks her tail, she feels nothing. No feelings have ever
entered her dull heart. No pain, no joy, no sadness. The little
squirrel watches the valley’s pink and purple flowers open their
petals to the rising sun. A harsh buzzing sound trickles down the
eastern hills, but the little squirrel is oblivious to the noise.

She spends the rest of the day frolicing under the protective
branches of the tree, admiring each fallen acorn as she pirouettes
between their shiny shells. Crumbling leaves crunch under her
padded paws and dead leaves drift to the ground; the snowflakes
of summer.

As the sun’s last rays disappear over the horizon, the little
squirrel scrambles up the grooved brown bark to her nest. Then
she turns around a few times and snuggles up in her blanket of
velvety flower petals. The little squirrel’s heart beats at a continu-
ous pace as she gazes up at the millions of stars. The little squir-
rel wishes for nothing when a shooting star leaps across the sky.

The sun is just awakening when the little squirrel’s eyes pop
open. She jumps up to look around. A harsh buzzing sound is
coming from the east again. This time it is loud enough to catch
the attention of the little squirrel. It is easy for the little squir-
rel to spot two strange creatures in neon vests through the thick
foliage on the hills. They looked terribly out of place in the lush
green valley. One of the creatures is holding a giant machine that
growls menacingly.

The little squirrel doesn’t give herself much time to think.
She dives down the tree to get a closer look. Her instincts tell her

* Something you should know about me: I love to be creative! I like to do art, design, and
experiment with different apps such as Keynote and Numbers. Don’t worry, I don’t sit
around all day either because I love playing soccer. Sometimes I even play inside my
house (which causes minor damage). I hope you enjoy my writing!

to run away, but the little squirrel doesn’t pay attention to them. 157
The little squirrel bounds across the sea of grass, eyes fixed on the
roaring machine. As she starts to near the strange creatures, she
ducks behind a tree a few feet away from the machine. The little
squirrel’s first feeling spreads throughout her body. It feels like
electricity pricking her veins, making her tremble uncontrollably.
The deafening noise makes her head spin like never before and
she crouches, ready to flee at any moment. The machine’s giant
silver teeth slice effortlessly into the trunk of a small maple. The
tree topples over with a dusty thud and the little squirrel freezes
in horror.

The wind whistles past the little squirrel’s ears as she runs
across the grassy clearing. The little squirrel curls up in the dark,
musty roots of the tree. Her bushy tail covers her head trying to
make the little squirrel forget the situation. The shivering never
stops and her teeth clang together without mercy. Her muscles
are knotted and her fur is matted against her back. The little
squirrel flinches at every sound afraid of what might happen
next.

Fear pulses through every vein and she cowers in the shad-
ows of the tree’s roots. The noise isn’t just loud. It is deafening.
The little squirrel’s ears scream for the sweet silence that had
filled the valley for so many moons. Her legs want to run away,
but to where? The metal teeth screech like dozens of angry vul-
tures, waiting for the right time to attack. The machine’s motor
spews dark smoke that chokes the little squirrel and makes her
eyes water.

There was nothing she could do now. She felt so helpless.
So weak. Finally, the sickening crunch of a falling tree ended the
noise. A cloud of dust erupted and then settled, as if marking the
end of a war. The last tree was down and it wasn’t just any tree. It
was the one that raised the little squirrel.

Now she had no home. No protection. Nothing. The little
squirrel crept out cautiously from beneath the roots of the tree.
The creatures had already left with their treasure. There was
nothing more for them here. There was nothing left for anyone,
even the little squirrel.

The little squirrel stared at the barren valley. She wanted to
scream and kick at the ground, but she didn’t have the energy.
Her once proud tail drooped to the ground accepting the tragedy.
Her heart felt compressed and heavy and her breaths were deep
and uneven. A single tear slipped down the cheek of the little
squirrel and she laid down on the ground letting her body sink
into the fallen leaves.

Suddenly, the little squirrel’s heart softens and new feelings

158 rush through her, rays of sunshine enveloping her into a warm
hug. There is joy, happiness, and pride overwhelming her senses
making her heart pulse steadily again. She wasn’t sad anymore.
She was angry at the tree. It had imprisoned her from the real
world. Her eyes brightened and they sparkled with adventure
and curiosity. Her ears pricked and her trail stood tall and proud.

That starry night the not-so-little squirrel followed a shoot-
ing star over the hills and into a new life. She wasn’t afraid any-
more. She realized that she didn’t need the protection of the tree.
She was ready to be independent and free.

**

*COriNNE WEBstEr 159

She the Crow the Crow the Thief

Obsessed with the thing that she has lost
Each eye sharp to the untouched glint firm to the scratched face

of time
Lost but never owned
Picking, ticking at her thoughts
Her thoughts of silver
Her thoughts of time
Worn leather bands fastened to the reflection of her eye
What is that remote, unapprehended object?
Lost to the person who carries it home
Too many words unspoken, too many screams unheard
as she ferries her clutchings abroad

Gone

* Corinne Webster is in seventh grade and enjoys fooling around, pranking her sis-
ters, reading, riding horses, writing poetry, and spending time with her dog, two
cats, ten chickens, two goats.

** Jesse Uiterwijk (opposite page) is a skinny 8th grader at Central Middle School
who enjoys playing trumpet, running and making short films for his YouTube
channel. He lives with his parents, sister, dog and four fish and wants to work in
the film industry when he grows up.

160 *graCE hELLEr

The Silhouette

The wind whips at her petite frame
Baby bundled in attentive arms
A small silhouette in the dark of night
Running to the bus
Running to save her baby

She struggles up the slippery steps
Holding her baby tight
“Feel her head” she says
But the driver backs away

He thinks they are below him
Different skin colors
Different rights
But color doesn’t matter
It’s what’s on the inside that counts

She has no money, but a wedding ring
He refuses it
He wants power, authority
He grew up feeling alone
Ashamed, embarrassed
Now power’s important

Snow slams against her frigid body
The wind howls
The bus disappears into the darkness
She stands there so small
In a storm so big
Just because she was colored

* Grace Heller is an 8th grader at Central Middle School. When she’s not in school, she
enjoys playing soccer, volleyball, and spending time with family and friends.

*BraDLEy sChULz 161

A Single Thought

One single moment has the potential to reroute your entire
life. Just one thought, for massive change. That place can even
be a concert hall, performing live in front of hundreds of people
as you clutch your alto saxophone, spotlights glaring at you. And
the time could be when you are before every person you know,
desperate to impress them. Maybe when you are overcrowded
with nervousness, a revelation may come to you, redirecting you
off of the highway, and back onto small, suburban streets.

My peripheral vision told me our director standing to my
left gave me a hopeful smile. I looked up during my rest and he
mouthed the words, “Have fun.” The dozen other members of
our small band were playing the long, jazzy lead up for my solo,
as I listened intently to the queue notes telling me when to start.
If I played my solo perfectly, then everyone would know my true
talents, and respect would be mine.

My hands had become so wet I could hardly feel the cold
keys of the alto saxophone underneath them. I was used to play-
ing as part of the group, where the audience rarely heard only
me. But now that was over. I had never played alone in front of
an audience with a population of several hundred. Would I mess
up? How can I even play if I can’t keep my hands still?

I looked up from the mess of lines and dots on the paper
resting on the stand hoping to distract my mind from these
thoughts. But that was a mistake. I should have kept my face
hidden behind the stand, for I could not comprehend how many
audience members lay before me. The concert hall was overflow-
ing with listeners, sitting away from the brightness, and in long
cushioned benches, looking thoughtfully at our small group of a
dozen musicians. I hoped they couldn’t see my scared nervous
face. I had to maintain the aura of excelling quality the rest of the
band had worked so hard to produce. So I reluctantly brought

* Bradley Schulz is an eighth grader who enjoys a challenge, especially in math or engi-
neering. He is the youngest of three siblings, his brother being a freshman in college.
And he plays the alto saxophone in the school jazz and regular band.

162 my saxophone to my mouth, hoping that my long, monotonous
hours of practice would pay off.

My wet and slippery fingers tensed around the white keys.
I felt comfort come over me as I felt my trusty, corroded saxo-
phone I’ve had for as long as I have been playing, six years. My
instrument had never let me down. It never missed a note and
always created the perfect tone. I knew that whatever I was play-
ing, I could count on it. When my two younger siblings, parents,
and I would leave for vacation, I would hide it somewhere deep
inside our house. So even if someone broke in, they would never
take or damage it. And whenever I finished playing, I would take
ten minutes to meticulously clean every part. Just one little dent
or section of grime haunted my nightmares. I couldn’t stand to
lose the one thing I really cared about in this world.

Reassured by the warm feeling my instrument provided, I
filled my lungs using my trained diaphragm muscles. My mouth
tightened around the reed attached to the black mouthpiece. The
flow of air from deep inside my stomach emerged through my
mouth. And I heard the sound of my own instrument projected
everywhere through the giant hall.

My fingers were completely running on muscle memory. I
had practiced at every chance I got. I was determined to show my
true talents. Now was my time to shine. These times to showcase
your talents come rarely, and that pleases me. But I was excited
to make the best of this opportunity.

There were no thoughts in my mind. Any thought or image
in my mind had potential to distract. I couldn’t risk anything.
Whenever a difficult section came by, I let my fingers do all the
thinking. I prayed that every movement was correct, for I had
no trust in the anxiety all throughout my mind. Only my muscle
memory had the potential for a mistake free run.

But as I lowered my instrument into rest position, a thought
occurred. Where’s the joy in this? Wasn’t the original reason I
started playing for a hobby? How could I let this hobby turn
into a stressful, unwanted chore?

My first days in this band had flown by. This group had been
a time of relaxation in a stress free environment. Ever since I
first saw the other members performing on the street so they
could have money for dinner, they were my favorite people in the
world. All we could possibly do was just enjoy life. There were
no unpleasant memories. All was wonderful back in my favorite
days.

But when I tried to find memories with similar gusto in my
current life, my mind came up empty. All in mind was a crowded,
painful life. Every day included hours of practice whenever

enough of us didn’t have school. The long hours of starting, stop-
ping, and critiquing had made me resent music altogether. Music
should be peaceful enjoyment, not an unwanted chore.

I wondered how I got to this point. What started as a hobby
had turned into an unwanted job. And who wants that? When I
first started saxophone, I would love to play hours on end. But I
never wanted our group to get so caught up on perfection long
practices every day would be the norm. And not even that, the
long constant blowing of air through my lungs carried fatigue,
making my small amount of free time away from school and mu-
sic consumed by laziness. What quality of life is that?

And when I brought my instrument up after a rest I thought
of performing reluctantly. This new hatred of music may as well
be the same as a giant blemish my beloved instrument, my favor-
ite part of life. This is what haunted my nightmares long ago and
to this day. My worst dreams have become reality, and I cannot
live with that. After this concert, no matter what the result, I con-
vince my fellow musicians to lower our playing time, or quit.

163

164 *Martha QUiriE

Sleeping in a Creek

Dawn
A murmur of voices

Carrying little boats
Softly to their docks

The mud slowly oozing
Swaying softly beneath a dark icy surface

Just as in space
The twinkle of aluminum sparkles

Being lifted up and floated away

* Martha Quirie is an 11-year-old girl who lives in a small town in Marin. She loves math,
swimming, and most definitely reading.

*MatiLDa MONtrOsE 165

Some Fears Aren’t Meant to be Faced

“I’m sorry, what? You want to join the army?” The man in
the booth in front of me smirks insultingly, not believing my
claim. A light flickers on in the old and dim warehouse, distract-
ing me for a moment. The white paint on the walls is chipping,
revealing the tattered wood underneath. It seems almost fitting,
like they matched the conditions of signing up for the army to
actually being a part of it. However, I don’t care about the condi-
tions. This is my dream.

“Yes. That’s what I said. Is there a problem?” I level my eyes
with irritated ones before me, because the man is almost as short
as me. I try to give him a cold look, to get across that even though
I may be small, I can fight for myself. He just snickers again. I
guess my look wasn’t that menacing, I think.

“Is there a problem…” He mutters to himself, looking down
at the papers in front of him. “Can I help who’s next in line?” He
looks past me, not even acknowledging me anymore. My fists
ball at my sides, I shove them in my pockets before anyone sees.
There’s a tiny hole at the base of my pocket… I get angry a lot.

“Look. I’m not leaving until you help me. All I need is for
you to okay my papers.” He raises his eyebrows, and the tips of
my ears seem to catch fire. I can feel them heating up with every
passing second. My anger intensifies as the agonizing and infuri-
ating sound of cruel laughter grows in volume. God Avianna, it’s
only a few people were laughing, and it’s mostly just chuckling,
I tell myself, but the harshness affected me the same as if it were
hundreds of people. A cold draft wafts through the thin walls,
seeping into my coat, and sending a shiver down my spine. I
hope we can get this over with soon.

“Hey, kid. Listen. We’d love to have everyone we can get. But
sadly, we won’t have the time to train… you.” I self consciously
look down at my small body. I’m the definition of petite, at 5’1”
and 90 pounds. My legs look like bird legs in my jeans. I’ve been

* I am a 13 year old 8th grader who loves to play soccer and basketball. I love listening to
music and singing when no one is listening.

166 the same size since seventh grade. I look up and try to strengthen
the resolve in my eyes.

“Well, I’m here to help. I’m sure you can make an exception!”
The chubby worker snorts once again, as if I were being ridicu-
lous. He seems to snort a lot, I think to myself. I wonder why,
it’s extremely irritating.

“I don’t think so. Look miss…” He glances down at my ID.
“Pierce. I hate to say it, but they’re just not going to want you.”

“Please? At least let them make that decision?!” He sighs
heavily.

“Fine. Go ahead. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He stamps
my paper, and immediately his eyes put up a shield and move on
to the next person. Apparently I had already wasted too much of
his time. However, at the moment, I could not care less. I made
it past the first obstacle. I was one step closer to giving back, one
step closer to joining the army.

Sweat drips off the tip of my nose as I lower myself to the
ground. My breath comes out raggedy, even though I only did
fifteen push ups. Well, technically fifteen and a half, because I got
on the floor again, but I have no intention of pushing myself back
up.

“Avianna? Are you here?” I curse to myself as my best
friend’s voice rings throughout the few rooms in my tiny apart-
ment, beginning to regret the decision to give her a key. I some-
how manage to roll over on my side and stare at the light gray
ceiling, waiting for her to find me.

Lelia sighs at the sight of me practically dead on the carpet.
“Ave, what are you doing?” I groan, not even bothering to answer
her question. She laughs and reaches out her arms towards me.

“Come on, get up. I’ll help you.” I smile gratefully and hold
out my arms.

“Thanks, Lia,” I huff as she pulls me up, wishing I was still
lying on the floor as my legs immediately start to ache again.

She leads me into the small kitchen/dining room, where
white plastic grocery bags still sit on the black wooden table
where I left them.

“So,” she starts, as I plop down on a kitchen chair. “What
were you doing?” I try to put my hands up to make finger quota-
tions, but my arms feel like jello. Resting my elbows on the table,
I manage to make the stupid gesture.

“‘Training,’” I say, and Lia laughs. “It’s not going too well,”
I admit, letting my arms fell to my waist. Suddenly, all of the
happiness drains out of her eyes, and she sits down in the chair
across from me.

“What?” I ask, confused. Just a second ago, she was perfectly 167
fine.

“I just…” She sighs and looks away. “I just don’t know why
you’re doing this. I don’t know why joining the army would ever
seem appealing to you. It doesn’t make any sense. You have a
perfectly good and normal life, why throw that away?” I have to
resist rolling my eyes, even though I know it’s horrible. Lia is my
best friend, but she can’t just believe in me. I told her that I want-
ed to join the army a while ago, but she didn’t believe me, she
laughed at me. And although she sincerely apologized afterwards
and I said it was fine, it still kind of angers me. My best friend,
and she doesn’t even trust me to make my own life decision. I’ll
admit, one of the biggest fears of my life is to be at war, but that’s
just another reason why I should do it. I’ve always been able to
face my fears and overcome them, but this one I have never been
able to complete. I never told Lia that though, because I know
she would use it against me.

“I told you, I want to pay back my country for everything
it’s done for me. If others hadn’t fought while I was growing up,
who know what could have happened.” I take a second, and then
laugh a bit. “Who knows, we might still be part of Britain. It just
seems important to me. And of course, I’ve always wanted to be
able to say that I’ve seen war.”

“Ave, it’s not just like, a life experience, it’s a life changer.
You can go to Paris, and then you could say that you’ve been
there. But the army is brutal. It will scar you for life, and you
can’t just come back from something like that.” I listen as she
speaks, but I’m not really listening to what she’s saying. I know
everything she says is true, but I can’t help but not care. My train
of thought is broken when Lia gets up to put the groceries away,
clearly wanting something to do.

“So you don’t think I can do it?” I say both defensively and
full of hurt. She turns around to face me and smiles weakly.

“Of course I think you can do it. But that’s not the question.
The question is whether you should do it.”

For some reason, those words stick with me. Maybe she’s
right. Maybe I shouldn’t do it. Besides, at age twenty-five, I have
many other things I can be doing with my life. And I am nowhere
near the requirements for weight yet. I would have to train for
years before I would be able to put on enough weight and still be
physically fit to be in their standards. This is one argument I’ll let
her win. I’ll just never tell her about my fear. Who knows, maybe
it’s better if I don’t try to get rid of it. Maybe some fears just
aren’t meant to be faced.

168 *aDaM griffiN

Strength in Kindness

Snow falls thickly
A curtain obscuring
Extraordinary events and kindness

Harsh wind howls
As if to say,
She is coming tonight
Prove your worth
As a man battles his way through the storm

He pulls his bus to the curb
Peering at the fearful figure outside
A small, skinny black woman
Ghost of a rejected passenger

She looks up at the driver
He stares down at her
As snowflakes tumble through her slight frame

Fear grips him, but compassion is stronger
Doesn’t see a ghost
Instead, a woman rejected in life
She shouldn’t be denied again

Now is the time to choose
Kindness or scorn?

He makes a decision
Swings open the doors

Right choices are not always easy ones
Simpler to just turn your back

* Adam Griffin is in eighth grade at Central Middle School. He is one of four kids, has
two cats, and enjoys playing trombone in the band with his friends Mir-i-am and Sara.

But better to turn around again 169
You will find strength in kindness
Not judgement and hate
Compassion will always outshine fear

**

170 *EMMa LarssON

Swings

Ari heard a rustling behind her. She didn’t turn around
because she knew who it was. She has grown up hearing that
sound. They always hid from her, but sometimes when she was
crouching behind the burned oak tree they came out.

Ari’s legs swung up in the air. She leaned back to grab more
momentum. She trusted the rough rope on both sides of her to
hold her as her head and back swung lower to the ground. The
wooden seat underneath her was worn and thin but she knew it
would hold her as it had done countless times before. She had
never known who built this swing but she felt safe when she was
up here. When she reached maximum height she threw her legs
back underneath her. The wind around her sounded in her ears
and she screamed as she tipped forward. She knew she wouldn’t
fall but the screaming gave her a thrill. Her amber hair flew in
her face and gathered in her mouth and brown eyes. She spit it
out tasting the dirt she had been rolling in earlier and grass from
the field. Here mom always said a twelve-year-old should never
play in the dirt, but she did it anyway. She pumped her legs out
again as she neared the ground, rising as she did so.

Ari glanced at the view. Green hills covered in grass, a crystal
clear river running through them. Her little cottage sat posi-
tioned right where you got the best view of the sunset. She knew
her mother was baking, for she seldom did anything else. She
knew that if you walked down the cobblestone street you would
see her sixteen-year-old brother chopping firewood and her dad
farming the land. She knew everyone would be happy. She also
knew she wouldn’t be.

Many people wondered why Ari spent all her time in this
area of the woods. For well the other side was happy and bright.

* Emma is very creative. She loves to act and dance.
** Corinne Webster (previous page) is in seventh grade and enjoys fooling around,

pranking her sisters, reading, riding horses, writing poetry, and spending time
with her dog, two cats, ten chickens, two goats.

This side was not. The swing was old and crusty. The ground 171
was covered in dirt and fallen leaves. The trees were dying and
sad, with claws as branches, that scratched your face if you got to
close. The air was cold and unpleasant. It smelled of rotting and
mold. Although she didn’t care to admit it, she came here for her
friends, her friends that never directly showed themselves.

Every once in a while when Ari was crouching behind a
burned tree trunk she had seen the beautiful fairies come out.
Well, she thought they were fairies, she could never tell. They
were about two feet tall but looked like perfect humans with en-
hanced features. High cheekbones, small waist and pale smooth
skin. The skin was soft and white with a silver sheen to it. They
had full red lips, long lashes to match their flowing red, blond, or
brown hair.

They also wear clothes of gold. They all had on a tunic type
dresses. Just a square piece of fabric coming down to the knee
with short sleeves. Some tied theirs around the waist with braid-
ed rope, which was the only difference between them, besides
their hair.

They walked barefoot on the the fallen leaves and twigs. They
showed no pain or emotion on their glamorous faces although
Ari knew it must hurt. For sometimes she tries to walk like they
do but fails every time and ends up with bloody, scraped feet.

They lived in a cave under the dark weeping willow. Ari had
always wanted to go into the darkness and see what kind of lives
they lead out of the sun. She also wanted to find out where all the
men were because she knew there had to be some. They never
came out though and Ari never went in.

She has never heard the fairies talk, so one did she was too
shocked to say anything. “Come out little girl, we know you’re
there.”

The only thing Ari could do was nod and mutter slightly try-
ing to from words but not succeeding, stepping away from the
burned trunk of the tree.

“Come here,” they all said in complete unison.
“Okay,” Ari whispered.
Their voices were light and soft. The sound enchanted Ari
and she found herself moving her feet towards the voices. They
were so beautiful. Maybe they will make me one of them. I need
to be like them. She reached the outside cluster of fairies and
continued in towards the one who had first spoken. I can’t wait
to be a fairy. She looked from fairy to fairy and her feet just kept
on going toward the center on the crowd. There seemed to be 100
faires at least.
When Ari reached the middle she kneeled on the ground

172 before the fairy. She barely felt the sharp rocks and twigs dig into
her knees. Maybe I’m becoming a fairy. This is happening right
now! Then the wonderful fairy standing before her opened her
mouth to speak and instead of the light soft voice, there came a
deep raspy one.

“Grab her,” the fairy said.
Immediately the spell was broken, Ari began to realize what
she was doing. She stood up and all the Fairies around her start-
ed to vibrate. Their beautiful faces turned to ugly, hairy messes.
They grew huge noises, bushy eyebrows and sharp bulky teeth.
They grew three times in width and the simple dresses stretched
barely being able to fit around their huge stomachs. Their feet
grew the sizes of a full grown male, which was extremely big
for something so short. The feet were full of thick coarse black
hair and cracked yellow toenails. The warts all over their bodies
pussed and oozed.
Ari’s screams could not be compared to anything you have
ever heard. The agonizing sound was then muffled by the fairies
climbing all over her. They are dragging me to the cave! Her
heartbeat quickened as arms grabbed her. Ari’s pants ripped as
she was dragged across painful rocks. In a matter of seconds she
was at the mouth of the tunnel. The last thing she saw before
she was pulled into the abyss was her swing swaying softly in the
wind. Maybe this is what happened to the previous owner. Then
she was gone.

*Cathy hOU 173

To My Friend

I saw you that day,
You caught my eye straightaway.
I knew you were the perfect one
My search for a friend was done.

On that day we met,
I made a bet.

That you would be my best friend,
Until our days end.

Your laugh is so contagious
It makes our teacher feel outrageous.

Every time you smile,
You make me feel as if I could fly a mile.

When I have secret to tell someone,
It’s to you I run.

I know you won’t tell anyone,
Not a single person, none.

Sometimes I get mad at you,
And you get mad at me too

But even after we fight,
we always make things right.

So many memories we share,
All floating in the air.

I’m so glad our friendship has come through,
I’m so glad I met you.

* Cathy enjoys dancing, swimming, and playing the piano. However, her all-time favorite
thing to do is to write short stories or poems.

174 *gENNi shaNE

Trapped

The kneeboard glides over the glossy blue water with great
speed. Drops of water spray onto my body. I clutch the rope at-
tached to the boat, shifting my weight from side to side so I can
bounce off the waves. Warm air blasts against my face. Holding
the rope with one hand, I reach out and feel the cool water rush
through my fingers. The sun blazes down upon my skin. Any
clouds that may have been in the sky earlier had departed, leav-
ing it clear, blue, and beautiful. Racing across the water brings
me joy and adrenaline, making me smile from ear to ear.

My skin has a summer glow and my cheeks have a rosy tint
from the extensive sun exposure. I glance down at the yellow
board with the checker design and see my legs, slimy from the
sunscreen I had lathered on earlier. On top of the board is a
squishy part for my knees with grooves that I am wedged into,
giving me a comfortable grip. A black strap secures me to the
board so I don’t fall off if incase I go over a large wave from an-
other boat. I hear the strong buzz of the engine. To the left is the
levi, a wall of grey stones with small shrubs growing in between
the rocks that keeps the delta water in a confined area. To my
right is the huge bed of water, with birds soaring in the air, dip-
ping down into the grassy islands spotted across the delta. Sun-
shine coated the water and made the air hot. My hands became
sore from holding the rugged rope.

I look ahead and see our speed boat cruise in front of me.
The blue stripes stand out against the white color of the boat.
Leather seats that match the paint on the outside sit in the
corners and supply cushiony spots for passengers to sit upon.
I remember all the fun times I’ve had on our little speedboat.
Watching fireworks on the 4th of July. Having lunch and sharing
laughs with my family and friends. Boating around on hot sum-
mer days. I loved this boat and all the memories with it, includ-
ing this one right now.

* Genni is an 8th grader who enjoys playing sports, especially soccer, and just overall
being active.

My dad starts to turn so I decided to go to the other side of 175
the wake as to not lose any speed. As I near the ridge, the nose of
the board suddenly dips down, completely submerging me in the
water. My head jolts forward like whip. The rope jumps out of my
grasp and I, being strapped tightly to the board, flip over. Water
swells around me, pushing on me from all sides.

I twist and turn, struggling to escape from the board’s in-
tense grasp. The water that was a majestic sapphire color before
turned to a murky blue green. Bubbles crawl across my skin as
the salty water creeps into my mouth. The board hugs my knees
and I start to feel a slight tingle in my legs. My life jacket clenches
my chest and scratches against my skin. My lungs scream for air.
My arms thrash around wildly as I try to free myself.

Moments ago I was joyfully skimming across the water,
happy as could be. Now I am trapped below the surface with a
kneeboard pinning me down, fearing for my life. How did things
turn so bad so quickly?

My heart is racing, beating fiercely out of my chest. Every-
thing else is silent. Around me, everything is in fast-forward,
while I am motionless in the middle of it all. I have to move fast. I
have the reach the surface soon. What if I don’t make it? What if
I drown? These thoughts rushed into my head almost as quickly
as they rushed out. I knew that I needed to focus on reaching the
surface so I put everything else out of my mind and concentrated
on the task at hand. My hands scramble over my legs, looking for
the end of the strap. I feel the pointy hooks of the velcro and tug,
trying to get free. It won’t budge. I try again. Nothing.

The more I struggled, the more disoriented I become. Up,
down, right, left, nothing made sense anymore. My vision be-
comes fuzzy. My body must have sensed danger, for my instincts
take over and I thrust myself against the board. The board is still
at first, and I loose all hope. To my relief, the board slowly turned
over and I was safe from the menacing water.

A slight breeze brushes against my face. The warm, summer
air pours into my lungs and I sigh in relief. I’ve never been so
grateful to breathe fresh air. I tear off the sinister strap, freeing
myself at last. I can see my family in the boat, circling around to
rescue me. I climb out of the icy water and onto the back of the
boat.

My mom hands me a towel and I nest myself inside. It’s cot-
ton weaving feels warm against my cold, moist skin.

“You got quite a bit of air on the last one,” my brother re-
marked.

I nodded my head, not quite hearing what he said. I was still
focused on all the fear I had felt just a short while before. My

176 family must not have noticed that I was trapped under the board,
for they acted normally and didn’t give any strange looks or ask
if I was okay. I thought I had been immersed for long enough for
someone to become suspicious. What had seemed like an eternity
only lasted a couple of seconds, but some of the worst seconds of
my life.

**

*ryaN BUssEr 177

Trapped Behind Bars

“You will thank us later, your smile will look so great after
this is over.” I kept mocking my parents as I sat in the chair at
the orthodontist’s office. I tried to get out of going, I don’t know
how long I tried. I acted sick, pretended to break my arm or leg,
said I had way too much homework to do, I tried to lock myself
in my room, I even said that I missed something really important
at school (even though I really didn’t). I tried everything, but I
couldn’t overrule the tyranny of my parents.

I kept thinking, “My teeth aren’t even that bad.” “Why am I
here?” “Why would my loving and adoring parents want to put
me through this torture?”

My head was tilted back in the chair and the lady hovered
right over my head. I tried to stay completely still. My mouth,
wide open, just waiting for this to be over. The only thing I could
feel was my phone in my pocket, buzzing away.

“Almost done,” she said taking the tools on and off of my
teeth. “Just a few more.” I could see the people around me, star-
ing at me like I was some strange guy in their house. I could taste
the sourness of the glue. I knew they were stuck. She was still
poking, plucking, and pulling my teeth. My teeth felt trapped
behind the bars of the braces.

I couldn’t take the pain much longer. Out the window of the
office, kids ran around or walked away from this horrid place.
I felt like I could’ve been doing so many other things besides
getting my braces, playing baseball, going to school, hanging
out with my friends. But I wasn’t. The bright dentist light shined
down on my face instead. Making me feel like I was going blind.

She kept telling me, “Just a few more minutes, almost done.”

* Ryan is an 8th grader at Central Middle School, he plays baseball, and is very
funny.

** Amy Ngo (opposite page) is a deaf Chinese 11 year old girl who lives in Sacra-
mento with her parents and older brother. She is bilingual as she knows both
American Sign Language (ASL) and English. She likes drawing anime and read-
ing manga books.

178 I didn’t know if I should’ve believed her or just ignored her like
I had been doing the whole time. I heard her tools scraping my
teeth. The sound gave me chills throughout my whole body. I
kept thinking, “When is it going to be over?”

I heard my mom in the front on her phone. Talking to my
dad about how much money this torture was. But there was
scraping then more glue, and then more scraping to take my
attention off of all the things that were going on around me. The
sour taste was coming back. Along with the terrible taste of the
rubber gloves. It tasted like a jaw breaker that had the flavor of
sour apple and old rubber. Just thinking of this made me gag.

“Bite down.” I did as told. “Couple more.” Was I actually
almost done?

There was twisting and turning of bright vibrant colors
along cold hard metal, I could feel the teeth moving with it. My
eyes hurt from staring into the light for so long. I had never wait-
ed so long for something I didn’t want. I couldn’t take the pain
any more. If I wasn’t done soon I was going to get out of my chair
and sprint out of the office. Then she said it. She said the words I
had been waiting to hear ever since I walked into the room, ever
since I sat down in that chair. She finally said, “All done, you can
leave now.”

I was so relieved. My body almost felt dead from sitting in
the chair for so long. I struggled to get over to the front of the
office to grab my backpack and get out. My mom had to stop me
though. When I found out why she stopped me, my eyes shot
open. She was scheduling other appointments! I thought I was
doomed. But that wasn’t even the worst part, I had to keep these
teeth prisons on for two years. When I finally got out of the office
I was in shock.

I felt the wire strung across my teeth. I kept saying to my-
self, “Two years, two years!” The braces I had never wanted to
get were now stuck to the inside of my mouth. “The two years is
going to feel like an eternity!” I said to my mom as I looked at
my teeth in the rear window of her car. The bright colors were
all aligned across the bands of metal along my teeth. I touched
them, feeling the metal bumps just sitting there mocking me. I
just stood right at the back window of my mom’s car and said, “I
might as well deal with it.”

*LOUis BULKa 179

Trenches

Tears and blood fell on to my worn, leather, trench coat. But
they were not my tears nor blood. The belonged to another com-
rade. A fallen comrade, a friend. His name was Mark Ericson.
We grew up in the suburbs of Manhattan. He was my partner in
crime and I was his. We’d steal pies out of windowsills and throw
bread crumbs at the ducks even though we shouldn’t have. We
were best friends.

But that didn’t matter now he was dead. I sat there with his
head in my lap just looking at him remembering his last words.

“Tell Anne I’ll miss her,” he said, as he slipped away.
Anne would know, so would Mark’s parents, and brothers. I
got up dusted off the dirt from my pants. Then brushed away the
blood and tears. As I stood up I could see his eyes shining with
tears and a small trickle of blood falling from his mouth. He’s
gone. He died in the trench and thousands more would that day.
It was no longer his war for he had passed it on to me.
An explosion behind send dirt all over me again. I knew that
it was time to go. I grabbed my rifle and walked away with the
ringing in my ear. Orders were being shouted, cannons were be-
ing fired and bullets were whizzing through the air. Soon I would
be in the middle of it all. I stand to the side of the trench as two
medics come by to pick up my friend’s lifeless body.
When I got back to where my pack was I sat down and buried
my hands in my face. It wasn’t long before I started to cry. I was
away from home, bitterly cold, covered in mud and blood. My
best friend had died all for some pointless cause, some dead
king’s war. It was never meant to be a war that my country would
join but here we were fighting against the regime of a fallen king
trying to help an unknown cause. A cause that would be fought
over in the trenches.
Our general told us it was time to get ready.
“Alright lads! Today there be a fair chance that you’re goin’ to

* Hi my name Is Louis Bulka. I live in California. I love cooking, tennis, and music. But I
also really like telling and writing stories.

180 die. So in case ye’ do private McAvery here is goin’ to be walking
around with a bucket. Anything that you consider valuable put in
that bucket. If you make it through this you’ll get it back.”

When the bucket came to me I put in my last pack of ciga-
rettes, a picture of my family and my dad’s golden watch. He
loved that watch. He told me if it was broken and I survived the
war he’d kill me himself, we had a good laugh over it. But I now
knew that there was a very small chance I’d make it back. Hoping
it would return to him today I reluctantly dropped it in.

I put down the handkerchief that I was using to clean my ri-
fle and once again stood up. I made sure that my rifle was loaded
and that my sidearm was ready for a quick entrance if needed. I
tightened the straps on my helmet dripping wet with rain. I got
to a ladder knowing that up there on the field was probably my
demise, the end of my life, my end. Bagpipes and the bugles start
to play an old Irish song and I ran. Mud and water splashed as
gunfire rained upon us.

Men all around me fell as the German guns pointed toward
the new line of charging soldiers. The man next to me was shot in
the heart and stopped almost instantly. We fell like bowling pins.
But I ran on. I was thinking of all the good men and women who
had died; those men and women included my best friend and my
cousin. Tears swelled up in my eyes. Tears of rage and loss. Tears
that flew off of me as I charged forward into the enemy trenches.

I was almost there about to jump in their trench. I made
the leap and was stopped instantly. At last a bullet found me. I
dropped like a fly. More tears fell, my tears. I knew I was dying.
My heart was beating fast. My breath showed in the cold morn-
ing. I thought of my family, my Mom, and Pop and my dog Scout.
Memories flashed before my eyes. So this is death, I thought. As I
closed my eyes everything was silent. It was the silence of death,
only I could hear it. Then I let go my last breath of air escaping
me into the winter air. As I slipped away it started to snow.

*KaitLyN O’CONNOr 181

Untitled Poem

One that is dark, one that is light
Blue on the left and orange on the right.
Good versus evil
Lines going down like dripping tears,
Like dripping paint.
One background with circles
The other with curls
Wave on one side, explosion on the other
Each eye influencing each other.
What do both have in common you ask?
It is the the electricity inside.
They stare and stare until it all comes out
Lightning explodes from the corner of their eyes shooting out.
So remember good versus evil.

* My name is Kaitlyn O’Connor. I’m 12 years old, I’m in 7th grade, and I go to Central
Middle School. I like reading and art, and I love to play basketball and softball.

182 *sErENa fUrUta

Wandering

“Mommy!” the little girl said, relieved. Her mother bom-
barded her with a flurry of hugs and kisses. The tears the little
girl once shed have dried into nothing. Her mother pried her way
through the river of people on the sidewalk to get to her daugh-
ter. But that little girl being found wasn’t me. No. As that girl was
being found by her mother, I was lost in the busy, unforgiving
streets of Redwood City.

I had been shopping in the stores of the strip mall by Safe-
way. Not very large, but it had many boring shops.

I needed to do something invigorating. Something that made
my nerves lurch with fire. Perhaps screaming, or breaking things,
or running around, just something to do that wasn’t boring to a
seven-year-old girl.

I thought that I wouldn’t be stupid, that I wouldn’t lose my
mom in a strip mall parking lot. I ran around the whole strip
mall, trying to keep good focus on my her, but she was looking
for me also. She was moving quickly, and I lost her head in the
flood of people. Trying to find her, I ended up running in never-
ending circles of despair and deep affliction.

My arms and legs started to shake, and my knees went weak,
so I was like a newly shaved lamb, thrown back on the farm. Who
knew that not listening and following directions would lead to
such confusion and sorrow.

My first instinct, as a girl of seven, was to plead. Beg the
people of the streets to give me some mercy and to help me.

“Please!” I screamed. “Please….. I…...am…..lost!” My breaths
get faster, and my eyes filled with salty tears of panic. My eyes
alone implore to the people in the instant of panic, but their cold
faces ignored me, as if our parallel universes were just a sight
for eyes. Their business suits and stone faces told the world not
to bother them, that they had something more important to do
than to embroil themselves in other people’s tiny, unnecessary

* Serena Furuta enjoys softball, writing, and reading. She currently attends Central
Middle School.

problems. 183
My second instinct is to run. Run far enough, not from

something, but to something. The thought that if I go far enough,
I will find my mom. Now I run. I run through the cold streets of
Redwood City, not paying any attention to people in my way.

“Mom!” I cry, but everyone ignores my calls. They turn
away, as if nothing has happened, yet they know that I am in
trouble. Purposely ignoring me so they won’t be halted by an
inconvenience.

My eyes, now as puffy as giant marshmallows, are weep-
ing tears. Tears that there is no hope left. I sit on a bench on the
soulless streets, just begging that I will be found. For as my body
sits on this bench, I have given up. There is no hope anymore.
Nothing to go back to. Something that once was so close to me
has gone away with the tide, and now, everything is still. There
are no more people on the streets, they didn’t just walk away,
they merely disappeared. Everything seemed to stop suddenly, as
if my life was playing through my head.

Now, I resort to my thoughts. Maybe if you think hard
enough, your mom will find you. You will be found. I think hard,
and concentrate on only my mom. The way her hair waves across
her face, the way she smiles at me when I get home from school,
the way she comforts me when I get hurt, even if it is as little
as stubbing my toe. My forehead crinkles up, and I squinch my
eyes, until my head is being washed over with misery.

With my eyes closed I lay down, as if I were napping, but I’m
not preparing to get up. Perhaps if I fall asleep on bench, I will
magically appear in my bed the next morning, just like I always
do. This whole day will have just been a nightmare, and I am still
in my bed, safe and sound with my mom in the other room. I
pinched myself again and again to try to wake up from this night-
mare, but as each pinch gets harder and harder, hope begins to
feel smaller and smaller. Now, there is nothing left for me to do.

I’m sorry, Mom. I think as if she were standing right beside
me. I sorry. I can’t find you, so I’m sorry. I should have listened
to you, and I shouldn’t have wandered off. Now my tears have
dried, but they stick on my face like a tattoo. It is permanent. It is
forever.

I look around once or twice, the blue sky looks joyful, it has
nothing in the world to care about. Has no partake in anything,
but it’s just there. It is almost calling me to get off the cold, hard
bench, since running around was what got me lost anyways.

But for once in my life I am grateful that I listened to my
mom on one occasion:

“Serena,” she said in a somber, and enforcing voice. “If there

184 is a time where you ever get lost, stay put. Call for help.” Mom
also went on and on in her little lecture to me, but that was the
only part I actually listened to. For once in my short life I was
grateful that I listened to her. So I stuck on the bench and in my
loudest voice I screamed:

“Mom! I am here! It is Serena!” I got more attention now
than when I rambled around. People looked at me, their faces
varying from sorrow to disgust. I said it again.

“Mom! Please!” I get quiet to hear if there is a reply. A dis-
tant voice answers me.

“Serena!” Is this my mom. Is she coming to find me? I
thought hopefully.

“Mom! I’m here!” Could this really be my mom?
“Serena!” the distant voice said again. I stood up on the
bench, trying to see a familiar face in the mists of the crowd.
There she is! My mom has come to get me! She has come to save
me!
I run over to my mom who seems annoyed, yet relieved. Her
face crinkles up, but in a soft way, and she sighs so heavily, it
seems all the air in her body was withdrawn. I can’t help but hug
her, and neither can she.
“Mom,” I say, my voice softer than a whisper. “I’m sorry, I
shouldn’t have done it.” Now there are tears welling up in my
eyes. “You were gone forever! I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry.” She
pulls away from me for a moment, her gentle eyes studying my
face.
“Serena.” Her voice sounds questionable. “You were only
gone for a few minutes.” I stare at her, my eyes wide, in disbelief
from what I had heard. Only gone a few minutes? But I didn’t
care, because this time, I was the one bombarded with kisses.

*aDriaN harris 185

A Whole New World

I squirmed impatiently, trying to get mom to hurry up. Mom
let me go, I want to go in Disneyland nooooowwwww! Mom
walked up, she stared at me, telling me to stop in a strained
voice. I’m almost five, old enough to walk in, and hand them my
ticket. I’m cute enough. Mom wouldn’t let me, and it did sound
silly.

After 20 minutes we got to the front of the line. I walked
through the gate, and found myself on a long, pink road. My
hand was in my pocket holding my treasured Goofy ticket that
let me enter. In the distance stood a big, four pillared castle with
blue tips, and a draw-bridged moat. It’s Sleeping Beauty’s Castle.
A statue of a man holding a mouse’s hand was in front of Au-
rora’s Palace. Oh! It’s Mickey!

Hundreds of people flooded through the entrance. Beside
them stood stores, from gift shops to churro stands. A bed of
colorful flowers inside a black gate was across the way.

I stood there frozen with amazement. I’m finally here. I
thought staring at the beauty of the park.

Mom spoke, it was hard to hear noise in the background.
People socializing, babies screaming, and cotton candy machines
rumbling. But I could still make out the words,“Welcome to the
happiest place on earth.”

I didn’t reply, as the smell of churros, cotton candy, and
caramel apples flew into my nose, I started to get hungry and my
stomach started to growl. God, I’m starving, that bowl of cereal
was not filling, maybe mom would let me get a churro, no it’s
too early. Great now I’m thinking of churros. Warm, sweet and
crunchy. Stop thinking of churros. Maybe in an hour.

I thought if this was real or if I dreamt the best dream of
my life. I shook my head, but I was still there. All the smells and
sights were real.

* Adrian Harris is a young 13 year-old interested in writing who lives in Belmont, Cali-
fornia. Adrian loves reading, writing, playing games, acting, playing sports and doing
gymnastics.

186 The sunny sky was spotted with dark, foggy clouds. The
early morning breezes fanned vigorously, helping contribute to
the chilly day. Mom was right I do need a jacket, I just wish she
packed a thicker one.

Early, before entering, I was anxious. Mom and I were wait-
ing in a line so long that you could see it from the parking lot.
My excitement was too much to handle. I wanted to explore this
beautiful park that I’ve only seen in commercials. I got restless,
asking mom how much longer and when this line was ever go-
ing to move, I got so restless that I had to be brought out of line
by Tia Rosa who was patiently waiting on the sidelines with my
cousins. Most of my cousins were older than me and had gone
before to this magical place.

My two cousins Jandro and Aris were like me, they have
never been here before. Jandro was a month older than me and
Aris a year younger, but we were inseparable. We did everything
together from playing, eating, and more. And they were as ex-
cited as I was. We became so restless that we would drag on our
tia’s arms and ask how much longer.

But once our Tia Rosa gave us that angry stare that would
haunt us for the rest of the day and would make us feel bad for
what we did, we stopped immediately. If we didn’t she would
either tell us to stop, yell, or tell on our parents. We knew that if
our parents found out that we were misbehaving that we would
either go back home or be on probation.

Once Jandro, Aris, and I had nothing else to do we would run
over to an abandoned ticket booth and swung on the red velvet
ropes. The soft redness of the ropes were too comfy to avoid. We
would push each other on the ropes as if they were swings on a
playground. For all fairness it was a park. While we were swing-
ing I thought of a thousand questions, What do you think it looks
like inside? Do you think it will look like the commercials? What
if it’s not what I hoped?

Once again we had to stop when my oldest cousin Jr, who
was thirteen at the time, pointed to a sign that was behind us
that stated clearly in big red font, “They Are Ropes Not Rides, Do
Not Swing Or Sit On Them.” Are you kidding me, this is like the
second time we’re not allowed to have fun. What can we do? I
thought this to myself but I still got off because it was a park rule.

But Jandro, the chubby little five year old threw a temper
tantrum. He yelled and screamed till he would get his way, which
he didn’t. His face changed color from pale to tomato red. His
cheeks were already red so that wasn’t much of a surprise to
us. He pounded his feet and stomped on the ground, so loud it
brought the attention of my tia. Stop you’re going to get us in

trouble. I was about to say something to Jandro, when Tia Rosa 187
came over. She stared at Jandro with eyebrows raised and nos-
trils flared.

Before she said a word Jandro stopped, and to our surprise
he wasn’t looking at my tia, he stared at mom walking towards us
with colorful tickets in her hands, fanned out for all to see.

All of the cousins, including me, stood at attention, as if
soldiers acknowledging their general. As we were greeted by our
general with these wonderful passes. She started to hand out
the tickets in order of the cousins age from oldest to youngest.
Her voiced echoed in the air as she listed off each of the cousins
names. Jr got his first and was happy that his ticket had his fa-
vorite character on it. Mom continued down the list, “Angel, Isra,
Chana, Joshua, Alejandro.”

Once Jandro received his ticket he asked my mom to switch,
his eyes were big and shiny, trying to show appeal to my mom.

Mom asked in the most peculiar way, “Why?”, as if she didn’t
already know the answer.

Jandro’s eyes went back to normal size and were ready to ex-
plode. With jaw dropped and eyes staring he shouted, “Because
mine has a princess on it.”

My mom did nothing but gaze at him and told him that he
could change it if anyone wanted to trade. When she was done
talking to Jandro she handed me and Aris our tickets. As soon as
that smooth, yellow ticket touched my hand, Jandro begged me,
big eyes and all, to trade tickets because he knew I had no prob-
lem with having any ticket. But for one reason and one reason
only, I turned him down. For the ticket I got was much like Jr’s,
it had my favorite character on it too, Goofy.

I loved Goofy, and Jandro knew that, it was his favorite too.
I loved everything about Goofy, his clumsiness, his smile, and
especially his weird laugh.

Jandro slouched and stomped the ground as we walked,
he complained about how he didn’t want a princess ticket. But
no other cousin would trade with him, not even Aris. But as we
walked up to a big gate with hundreds of people he saw that it
didn’t matter because once the ticket was checked, our parents
would either hold on to it or throw it away.

We waited in one of those river like lines, that were very
long, but flod quick and fast. All the people behind those big
metal boxes had to do was check bags and tickets and let people
in.

My heart raced, the only thing separating me from running
off into the park was that gate. Once I had gotten to the front of
the line I was greeted by a kind-hearted older lady with a big,

black name tag. Her gentle hands took the ticket from mine, and
dropped it. I went to go pick it up, and she took it from my hand
again, our hands touched, they were warm friendly, like a sincere
hug. She scanned it and gave it back to me.

There I was now. Standing in the middle of “The Happiest
Place on Earth.” I found myself no longer impatient. I saw that
I didn’t need to be impatient anymore, I was already standing
where I wanted to be. Mom said, “Alright let’s get going, we only
have a few hours till lunch.” I walked forward holding mom’s
hand. As I marched on with my family by my side, I left my im-
patience behind. And I never looked back.

188

*MaEvE hELLEr 189

Winter Wonderland

I put my warm hot chocolate mug on the counter and grab
my scarf and winter coat. I quickly pull my boots over my color-
ful fuzzy socks and race towards the front door. All my nagging
worked, we were finally going sledding.

I’m greeted by the frosty air of winter as I run out of my
warm, heated cabin. I excitedly sprint to the sledding hill. My
heavy boots pound against the hard cement, then onto the soft
snow as I reach the bottom of the hill.

I close my eyes and inhale quietly, breathing in the fresh and
clean smell of Tahoe. My body straightens, as if the refreshing
cold had woken it up after many months of sleep. My favorite
place to be in the winter. Crisp air nipped at my nose and ears.
The snow was thick, an extensive blanket of soft powder. I trudge
up the precipitous hill, panting while carrying my blue sled
behind me. My boots make their mark in the snow as I begin to
reach my destination. The top of the hill.

I stop for a second to catch my breath. The snow falls softly,
delicately descending, then gracefully landing, silently onto the
soft ground. The sky, gray and cloudy, hid the warm, vibrant sun
rays that would someday melt all this beauty away. But of course,
it will bring the promise of colorful flowers and sunshine and all
the expectations that came along with spring. For now though,
I’m enjoying the winter.

Petite snowflakes settle on my eyelashes and tickle my nose.
Each one different and unique, so tiny, you would never know.
The beautiful evergreens, completely dressed in white, thick
snow stand above me, making me feel small, but safe, almost as
if they were guarding me from danger. It was truly a winter won-
derland. All is quiet other than the steady sound of my breath.
I listen contently at the steady rhythm. It’s peaceful. I close my
eyes and take a deep breath in, inhaling the sweet aroma of win-
ter and the sharp scent of pine trees.

* Maeve Heller is an 8th grader at Central Middle School. She loves to read, play sports
such as soccer and volleyball, and spend time with her family and friends.

190 My eyes wander, and I catch sight of a tall log cabin, far
away, with gray puffs of smoke escaping its chimney. I imagine
the family that lives there, snuggled by the fire while they drink
hot chocolate. Telling stories and laughing. For a moment I want
to be back in my own cabin. Feeling the warmth of a cup in my
hands, filled with peppermint hot chocolate, while wrapped in
a soft, fuzzy blanket, reading a book by the vibrant fire. But in-
stead, the cold drags me back into reality, and I face the hill once
more.

“Come on, build a fort with us,” my sister calls from below
the hill, interrupting my thoughts. My woolly hat covers my ears,
making everything muffled. Irritated, I sigh loudly and dramati-
cally, continuing back up the hill. My boots crunch the soft snow
with every step. My numb hands, frozen from the frigid condi-
tions, tightly grip the rope that held my sled.

When I get to the top, I sink to the ground and lay my tired
head on the velvety blanket of snow, exhausted from my journey.
When my breath becomes steady again and my heart slows back
to it’s normal beat, I sit up and situate my sled in front of me. I
take a seat, keeping my feet in front of me to make sure I don’t
slide down.

I sit there for a while, staring at and soaking up the breath-
taking, beautiful view of Lake Tahoe. My desire for beauty is
insatiable, and beautiful it was. The lake’s deep blue waves dance
with each other, tiny crystals glittering with the hint of sunlight
that appeared, the rest hidden behind the thick mass of clouds.
The snow-tipped mountains sit perfectly above the lake, as if they
were guarding it, protecting it.

A perfectly shaped snowball landed inches from my feet,
drawing my eyes to the snowball fight occurring at the bottom
of the hill. My family and friends throw snowballs at each other.
I smile when one hits my sister in the face. My dog prances
around, excited at the sight of the white powdery snow covering
her coat of black fur.

We chose the tallest and best hill to sled down, and that is
the one I am on top of. The snow is perfectly even, the hill is per-
fectly sculpted. You have to have confidence that your sled will
take you where you need to go, with no complications or bumps
in the road. Literally. But that’s what I like most about it. It relies
on hope and wishing.

I brush the loose strands of hair out of my eyes, which some-
how escaped from my tangled braid. Swirls of a cloud like mist
escaped my mouth, then disintegrated, only to be brought back
to life each time I exhaled.

“You ready?” my sister calls.

“Yep!” I shout back. But that is I lie. I want to stay at the top 191
of the hill and enjoy the beautiful scenery that surrounds me, but
of course, I can’t.

The trees say a silent goodbye as I prepare myself.
My route was already carved out for me, looping around
trees and dodging rocks. All I needed to do was push off, and the
sled would do the rest.
My feet inch forward. Well, here we go! I thought, getting
excited.
I take a deep breathe in, push off, and away I go.

**

192 *KyaN WaLKEr

Withered Time

The leafless, fingered branch clutches the moon
in a wiry grasp.
Arms of black dark trees hanging over people who
have served us so well.
A stone, as old as time itself in a timeless
field of stones.
Bodies buried under a thick layer of dirt. Walking,
Who am I walking over? Who is walking over me?
A cat perched upon an abandoned limb. Howling
to the dark moon, on a blanket of black. A stone
of withered time, Stands.

* Kyan Walker, a 12 year old boy enjoys having a little urban farm in his backyard
in Marin California. He competes in 4-H shows, loves the outdoors, and often
hikes in the wilderness.

** Angel Trach (previous page) moved to Palo Alto in sixth grade. Although she
didn’t like art in the beginning, she has been drawing for several years. She just
started watercolor about one year ago and has enjoyed it since then.Her hobbies
include dance, reading, and abacus. She has two sisters, a hamster, two turtles,
and two dogs.

*sOPhiE harris 193

You Never Know What You’ve Got Till It’s
Gone

The warm, stale air strangled the oxygen out of its usual early
morning crispness. The smells of the passengers before me had
sunk into the cool leather chair. I could taste the sickening acid-
ity of vomit in the air. Attendants marched like soldiers down the
carpeted aisles, preparing for takeoff.

I slumped down in the worn, leather seat. Taking off my
heavy, blue backpack and dropping it. I leaned back into the
cool hug of the smooth and cool chair. My sister and I had run
all the way from airport security to our gate. Amelia ran into a
bookstore to look at their childrens toys without caring to tell me.
I had spent thirty minutes of our time looking for her. Already
my trip to Denver was off to a bad start. I breathed in the stale
air that reminded me that I was sitting in a cramped airplane.
My spine in an lazy curve that sent my hair cascading over my
hot face. Clammy hands supported my head as I sat there and
composed myself.

Little hands poked my body, and loud laughs in my ear sent
me leaning away from my energetic and loud younger sister.
“Stop it Amelia, you little beast,” I yelled loudly in her face. Her
eyes turned glossy and pink, like she was almost about to cry.
Then a crazy smile appeared on her little face and she under-
stood that I was playing with her and leaped onto me. Giving me
a massive, but unwanted, hug. “Amelia! Stop it and sit in your
seat.” I whispered in a angry tone. As she sat back in her seat she
kicked the storage pocket on the seat in front of her and pouted
her lips. I wish my parents were here to help carry the burden of
a child but they both had to stay in San Francisco working while
we visited our grandparents’ house in Seattle.

“Please prepare for takeoff,” a smooth voice said from the

* My name is Sophie Harris, and I am in 8th grade. I have taken ballet for eight years and
will continue to through high school. Every Monday I tutor a 4th grader from my local
elementary school. I run Cross Country and Track and Field, where I participate in long
jump and throw the discus.

194 speakers surrounding us. “Fasten your seat belts and make sure
your tray tables are stowed. Follow along to the safety instruc-
tions with your pamphlet located in the storage compartment in
the seat in front of you.” I opened the seat pocket and the smell
of old airplane food and stale gum drifted up to me. I reached
my hand inside, avoiding the oddly colored stains, and removed
the information card. Only touching the corners of the laminated
pamphlet and dropped it down on my sister’s lap. I let my mind
wander as all the passengers sat there half-listening to the voice
repeat the same instructions I had heard a million times before.

I looked out the window at the early morning sun and let out
a dramatic sigh. There was a big 747 plane next to us. With two
levels of seats it was huge. Maybe it was flying to England or Aus-
tralia. Our small 72 seat plane looked pitiful and outdated, we
didn’t even have TV screens on the back of our seats. I glanced at
my sister, who was glued to the cartoon people trying to evacuate
the plane in a water landing. I shifted my weight in my seat and
turned to rest my elbow on the arm rest. I peeked between the
seats to look at the people behind us. A young couple were sitting
there, holding hands. They were talking to each other in quiet
voices. They didn’t speak in English, but in a foreign tongue that
I could not understand. They both had a wide and white-toothed
smile as they chatted. With almost platinum hair and deep blue
eyes I guessed that they were from maybe Russia or Sweden.
Their translucent skin showed every vein in their arms and face.

“Kate pay attention!” whined Amelia with upturned eye-
brows and a serious face. Following my sister’s orders, I turned
to face forward. “Thank you for listening and have an wonderful
day!” said the lady’s voice which ended the safety information.
Now it was time for takeoff.

I leaned my heavy head on the wall of the plane. If I squinted
my eyes, the speckled blue and gray pattern formed into a beauti-
ful baby blue, the same color as my room.

Two years ago when we remodeled our house I got to paint
my room a different color. I chose blue because it relaxed me,
sometimes I imagined that I was watching the ocean as I stared
at my wall. Imagining sea monsters hunting hopeless sailors
trying to find land. Friendly dolphins came to aid the drowning
people, letting them ride on their backs as they delivered them to
shore.

“Whoa!” I said as the plane came to life. The steady hum
of the engines told me that we were about to take off. While
reminiscing about my room at home and my vivid imagination, I
temporarily forgot where I was and where I was heading. Seattle,
Washington here I come.

The plane moved through the paved runway, warming up for 195
the journey ahead. We turned right onto a long stretch of run-
way. The pilot steered his precious plane to stop at a thick yellow
line. Then right at once he started back up, starting off slow then
building speed. We were going faster than any car could but we
didn’t stop there, the plane kept increasing speed. Growing and
growing until it felt like if we hit anything we would crash into an
million pieces. The fierce engine growled as the plane still getting
faster and faster. My sister grabbed my hand and held on tightly.
We both squinted our eyes shut as the plane reached its highest
speed yet! Then the plane lifted off the ground.

As the tip of the plane lifted upwards I felt a strong pull by
gravity back in my seat. The sudden increase in altitude caused
my ears to pop. I unclenched my eyes and breathed out with
relief. I don’t enjoy flying. “Hellppp meeee.” Amelia whines as
she unsuccessfully tries to lift the squeaky armrest, “I want to go
to talk to you and this is in the way!” I easily lifted it up and then
turned away from my high maintenance sister to search in my
over-packed backpack. Hunting for the iPad hidden in the end-
less pit of books, jackets and stray hair ties. Finally my hand met
with the smooth surface of the leather cover. I also grabbed her
Elsa headphones and placed them on her lap. “Thank you!” she
said excitedly, already logged into the iPad with headphones at
the ready. Her tiny fingers taped on the video app and started to
scroll through endless Disney movies and TV shows.

I was glad I had the distraction of technology to entertain her
for the next two hours. Pulling my earphones and phone out of
my worn hoodie pocket I began to relax too. I put them into my
ears and started to play my music. Fluttering eyes sent me into
darkness as I drifted off to sleep.

“Flight attendants and passengers please take your seats,”
ordered the flight attendant on the speaker system. “There will
be some turbulence ahead.” The stressed voice woke me from my
slumber. A bump sent passengers and attendees alike stumbling
all over each other.

“Kate!!!! I NEED to go potty,” said Amelia in an urgent tone.
I looked up at the fasten seatbelt sign and stopped to think. Mom
always lets me get up when the seatbelt sign is on. It’s fine,
right?

“Sure Amelia, just come straight back.” I watch her walk to
the bathroom and breathe in. Butterflies start to appear in my
stomach. She will be fine! Don’t freak out about nothing.

I jump in my seat. Another bump shook the plane, then
another one. “Remain seated!” said the once calm and collective
speaker, who now seemed stressed. The bathroom door opened

196 and I saw Amelia walk out of the bathroom.
“Amelia sit down!” I yell loudly. She ran down the aisle to-

wards me but loses her footing and trips onto the ground. At the
same moment a large bump rattles the plane as it it was an paper
plane in harsh winds. Oxygen masks fall from the ceiling and she
is still on the floor. “Amelia!” I scream at the top of my lungs. I
reach out to her and she stumbles up and I pull her to her seat.
Frantic hands grab for the seat belt.

Another bump sent my back in my seat. When I scramble up
I clip the seatbelt together and lock her in. I pull the oxygen mask
hanging over me over my face than secure Amelia’s. “I thought
you were going to get hurt,” I said between sobs, my voice
muffled by the oxygen mask. I squeezed her shoulders as tears
stream down my ugly red face. As the plane started to become
more still I let go of my little sister.

Her little body was shaking. Tears poured out of her still
eyes. It wasn’t her usual cry like when one of her friends takes
her toys. She cried with her eyes, not her face. And her eyes
didn’t look up at me when I put a gentle hand on her shoulder.
Through her glazed eyes I could not find my playful sister. “Are
you okay?” I spoke in an ghost of a whisper, careful not to alarm
the fragile girl in front of me.

A few long seconds past as I awaited her answer. She shook
her head in an silent reply. “You may remove your oxygen
masks. We will be walking around to check on every passenger
and will give out complimentary snacks. We are sorry for the
disturbance.” I removed my oxygen mask but left Amelia’s on.
I pressed the flight attendant button on the ceiling above and
noticed a golf ball sized stain on the ceiling. I touched the red
mark and brought my fingers to my face. Crimson liquid was on
my finger. Blood.

I touched the top of Amelia’s head as she sat there still star-
ing into space. More blood marked my hands. On closer exami-
nation I saw her brown hair wet with blood. “I said, Did you need
assistance?” said the flight attendant frustratedly, apparently
repeating herself.

“I think my sister hit her head,” I say worriedly. Her eyes
drifted to the red stain on the ceiling then down to my sister’s
head. Concern filled her pretty face as she guessed what had hap-
pened. Finally she looked into the dead eyes of my sister.

Kneeling down to talk to her she asked her three questions:
“Do you remember hitting your head? Does it hurt? Did you
have your seatbelt on?” she asked gently with a furrowed brow.
Nod. Shake. Shake. “Okay stay with her and tell me if her behav-
ior changes,” she directs. “I will be back, okay.” Now talking to

Amelia. She disappears to talk to one of the other crew members. 197
I see her mouth moving fast. Her eyebrows turned upward with
concern, I know that this situation is serious. She moved with
speed to a couple other people. I know that time is precious.

“Amelia? Do you feel strange?” I said, with a gentle tone. She
turned with little face towards me but did not look into my eyes.
She looks to my shoulder, but her gaze was level with my eyes.
Her limp and tired hands she pulled at the elastic bands securing
the oxygen mask. My shaking hand slid the mask over her face
and let it hang from the ceiling. “See two people.” Amelia said in
a timid whisper, pointing to just above my shoulder.

“Hello again, we are planning to-”
“Something is wrong with her vision. She is seeing two
people when she looks at me!” I said cutting the flight attendant
off.
“Okay hold on,” she says hurriedly, running off to talk to
another flight attendant. “Don’t worry, it will be okay.” Then I
watch in horror as a crimson drop of blood rolls down the side of
her face.
“Is there a doctor on board? There is a little girl who might
have serious head trauma.” I see through the curtain separating
cabins that a woman raised her hand. She was quickly escorted
to our seat and took out a thin flashlight from her smooth leather
bag.
“Turn toward me honey,” she sweetly says in a southern
accent. She shone the bright lit into her eyes and frowns. “Okay
thanks darling,” she said briefly and batted Amelia on the leg.
“This girl is in danger of bleeding and swelling in her head. We
need to land this plane and go to the nearest airport.” The atten-
dant nodded and again rushed off.
A minute later the speaker system rings again. “We will be
making an unscheduled arrival at Eugene Airport in Oregon due
to a passenger’s injury. This is only two minutes away. Prepare
for landing. When we land stay seated, our priority is the injured
passenger.” I pack up my own bag and then Amelia’s.
We drop lower and lower in altitude, preparing for landing.
Then we touch the paved ground lightly, then the full force of the
plane hits the ground. We slow to a snail like pace and taxi into
an open gate. As soon as the plane door opens a team of para-
medics rush into the plane. The flight attendant directing them
struggles to keep up in her high heeled shoes.
They carry her from her seat to a stretcher and secure her. I
shimmy out of my seat and follow the stretcher down the aisle.
My eyes glued to my little sister. When we get to the outside
of the gate one of the paramedics I had been keeping up with

198 stopped me.
“You can’t come in the ambulance with us. Take a taxi to the

Sacred Heart medical clinic and meet us there,” he said in an
merciless tone.

“Stop you can’t make me, I won’t!” I yell at his back as he
runs to catch up to my sister. I run following Amelia’s paramed-
ics. As I run past shops and different gates I hear “Mind the car”
as an airport car zooms past me. “Stop, wait for me!” I yell at the
middle aged driver. I hop on and tell him my destination. It takes
me only five minutes to reach the baggage claim. “Thanks for the
ride sir,” I yell back to him as I run outside. I get into the first
taxi I see and direct them to the closest hospital.

As I wait in the car I begin to cry. I let out all the sobs and
tears I had been holding in. I tried to be strong for Amelia. I
didn’t want her to see how afraid I was that she would be seri-
ously hurt and she was. It’s all my fault that she got hurt. If she
didn’t get up she wouldn’t have hit her head, I thought scolding
myself.

“Ma’am we are here.” said the frustrated driver.
“Thank you,” I stammered. With shaking hands I pulled
out a crumpled $20 bill from my backpack and threw it into the
driver’s seat. I ran out of the faded yellow car and into Sacred
Heart Hospital.
“Hello my sister came in here recently, she had hit her head.”
I breathed. “One of the paramedics will be out to see you soon.”
At that moment the same man that told me that I could ride in
the ambulance walked up to me.
“Your sister had bleeding and swelling in her brain, she died
on the stretcher when we arrived to the hospital. If you would
like to see her you can,” he said in a heartless tone. I nodded my
head and followed him into her room. She laid there peacefully,
as if she was asleep. I kissed her cold forehead with my lips wet
from tears. I kneeled there, beside her bed waiting for her to
spring up and tell me this was all just a joke. It didn’t feel real. In
the last moments of life I treated her badly. All that I have of her
last moments are memories faded with panic and fear.

199

200 aCKNOWLEDgEMENts:

Stanford Anthology for Youth would like to thank the following
groups for their contributions and support:

Associated Students of Stanford University
Haas Center for Public Service

Stanford Student Activities and Leadership

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We would also like to thank all of the participating schools,
teachers, and parents for nurturing the creativity and talent of

these young writers and artists. In particular:

Misty Breen (J.L. Stanford Middle School)
Jennifer Coluzzi (J.L. Stanford Middle School)

Devika Brandt (Marin Teen Poets)
Diane Luu (J.L. Stanford Middle School)

Jay Richards (Central Middle School)
Joan Purcell (Central Middle School)
Kara Smith (Jordan Middle School)
Elizabeth Lewis (J.L. Stanford Middle School)
Autumn Lutge (California School for the Deaf)