miserable? I'm ruining my childhood. I'm letting my family down. “I’m worthless,” I whisper. The words feel too dense for the air, falling to the cement floor like bricks. Maybe because I said it out loud, or the intense emotion just ran its course, but either way I begin to calm down, my tattered breath returning to normal. I look up and unclench my fists, then take a deep breath and stand up on shaky legs. I survey myself in the dirty mirror that leans against a stack of totes full of clothes and books. I got the mirror off of the side of the road a few months ago because I thought I could make something cool out of the glass. My reflection looks almost as worn as the once-elegant trim. There are faint bags under my eyes, and my skin is sticky and gross, besides the fact that I’m beet red. My dirty blonde hair is a mess, and my arms look thin under my big t-shirt. I shrug. I look like the protagonist of a very dramatic movie. Pre glow up, of course. I giggle at that. Yeah, I’m a hot mess, but I’m not in a coming of age movie yet. Plus, I don’t have the right body type to be the protagonist of anything. Most days I feel too small for my body. Sighing, I head inside to refill my water bottle.

I pause outside for a moment, letting the cool air calm my nerves, maybe freeze out the rest of my dramatic thoughts. I’m careful not to let the house's front door squeak, but it doesn’t matter, anyway. The only light I can see is the dim glow from the lamp in the kitchen. It's enough to illuminate my younger sister, Alex, who is sitting at the table wearing a red t-shirt. “Hey, Brooks,” she says nonchalantly.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Am I not allowed to eat cheese balls at 10:30pm?” Her green eyes twinkle, and her high ponytail looks surprisingly bouncy for this time of night. 

I can’t help laughing. “It isn’t wise,” I point out.

“Eh, I’ll live. What were you doing in the garage?”

“You know I like to craft in the garage.” That isn’t a lie. All of my supplies are out there since it has more space and less carpet than our shared bedroom. I never said I was crafting now.

“Weirdo,” she says as I make my way back to the door, water bottle filled.

I stick my tongue out as I escape, still smiling for a moment. Then I let out a sigh. The whole exchange was so normal. She doesn’t know anything is wrong. To be fair, I have way better control when I’m with people. At least, over things like this. Truthfully, I might flip out about little things, like, multiple times a week. I really can’t hold it together. But I can hide some things. I don't tell anyone that I feel like life is running away. That I think everything I do and say is wrong and my existence itself is a waste of time and energy. No, I just complain loudly for entire afternoons about schoolwork, or freak out when I can't find the shirt I want to wear, or cry for two hours when my sister says something even slightly offensive. I might as well scream from the rooftops that I’m stressed. If I were nicer, I wouldn’t. I feel horrible when my mood affects the rest of my family, but I have no self control. I have to let my feelings out. If only I could tell them the reason just as easily. It's not like I'm really trying to hide anything, because I can't, I just feel like they don’t get it. I’m screaming, but nobody really hears what it is that I’m saying.

Still, maybe Alex doesn’t know that anything is wrong because when I spend time with her nothing is wrong. Much as it hurts that nobody knows what’s going on, sometimes I need a reality check. She doesn’t give me the time to be worried or confused because with her I'm too busy giggling over something stupid or we’re mercilessly skipping each other’s turns in Uno. She’s my bright side, my chill pill, my personified therapy. My sister is my best friend. 

It's just that if I'm being completely honest, I don’t know if she’d even care that I’m upset. That's what scares me most.

I know I’m being stupid. Why should she care? There’s nothing to care about. I’m inventing problems. It’s an illusion for me alone. She has her own life, and probably her own problems. She is the one with the learning disorder, after all. I’ve seen her crying to Mom about her struggles, though she’s usually strong. Gosh, I’m so selfish. I should be worrying about her instead of being upset that she isn’t worrying about me when there’s nothing to worry about. You see what I mean by dumpster fire now, right?

Putting my complicated thoughts and instinct to keep breathing way too fast aside, I reenter the garage and force myself to focus back on my tablet, which is open to a YouTube dance tutorial. Dancing is probably one of the reasons I'm even in this state of mind right now, but it's also something I love to do. I'm dumb like that. I dance all the time for fun, but it's not like I'm any good at it. Now's as good a time as any to change that, though. And if I give my stupid fat body some excercise in the process, that won't hurt, either. Dancing is only one of my many projects (sometimes I feel unaccomplished and empty if I don't have enough short term goals to work on), and lately it's been hard to keep up with all of my endeavors plus school. That's not even to mention family or friends. My entire life feels off kilter, but I really do love to dance, even if the garage is a small practice space. So I turn up the music and focus. 

I'm currently trying to learn "Can't We Just Leave The Monster Alive?" by TXT. I just need to hear, “It’ll be alright, alright, alright,” because right now my whole body is telling me that it will most certainly not be alright. But I don't have to think as I follow the screen propped up against the mirror and the beats playing in my ears. All I have to do is move my body in a certain way, a bounce here and a twist there, and suddenly I'm dancing, and then it's just me and the music and the sweat on my back. And for a while I truly feel alive.

That's until I try to perfect the pre-chorus. I replay Yeonjun’s key footwork around fifteen times, but I just can’t keep the steps in my head. They’re probably bouncing off of the same suffocating wall that keeps reflecting all of my thoughts back onto each other in one big jumble. After another ten minutes or so, I’ve gotten exactly nowhere. Glaring at my reflection in the mirror, I decide that I will keep going until I get it. Twenty minutes later, I’m kicking the wall in defeat.

I decide to work on another end of the world issue instead: crafting. Funny story on that:

"Hey, Brooks, just coming to check on you," Dad said yesterday. He ducked to avoid hitting his head on the hanging light as he entered the garage. A breeze followed him through the door, cooling my face as I hurriedly turned off the phone and went to stand by my craft desk. I pretended I was busy with the glue gun, but it really wasn't even plugged in. "How're the crafts coming?"

"Good," I said casually, even as my mind flickered to the Etsy order I had yet to start.

"You're doing that show with Aunt Dede on Saturday, right?"

Shoot. Shootshootshoot.

"Oh, I almost forgot! Yup!" Or did forget and completely screwed myself. Whatever.

"You've been working hard out here lately. You should be pretty well prepared."

"Uh-huh! Definitely!" Nope. I was not prepared. Not at all. In fact, I was doomed.

I grabbed the phone to text Aunt Dede as soon as Dad left. Scooching myself up to sit on the hood of our old lawnmower, I typed, "R we still doing the craft fair Saturday?"

Her response came through seconds later: "Of course! I'll pick u up at 8."

"K, how much are you bringing?"

"I was going to do 20 hats and 10 paintings. Why?"

"Just trying to figure out how much I should bring." 

'And make,' I thought as I sent the message.

"I'd say around 20 key chains and 20 headbands. Are u doing shirts?"

I bit my lip, drumming my fingers on the back of the phone. I had five key chains made, and the materials for at least fifteen more. I also had the decorations for the headbands, but not enough plastic bases. T-shirts are fun to decorate, but I wasn't sure I had time. Six days to make fifteen key chains and twenty headbands was bad enough. I'd also need to buy more plain shirts. It probably wouldn't be worth it. Screw that. I could do it. It should've been started already, anyway. "Yeah, will 10 shirts be ok?" I typed.

"Sounds perfect."

I smiled. Perfect. I could do this.

So now I set to work. One key chain, four headbands, and a few paint stains on my jeans later, I'm so tired I can hardly stand up without wanting to die on the spot. Besides that, the garage is freezing. I reluctantly trudge back to my bedroom, where I find Alex fast asleep. The wise decision would be to go to bed myself, but do I? Nope. Instead I find myself eating chocolate ice cream out of the carten while watching YouTube at one in the morning. Sighing, I finally turn the device off. I didn't care about anything when it was on, but now I have to–ugh–think. Why am I so stupid? One in the morning on YouTube, yet I can't bear to keep working on things that need done. If I put so much pressure on myself that it causes this weird anxiety thing (which it shouldn't), I could at least hold myself to my standard. I'm being all dramatic, yet I'm still so light on myself. Some days–or nights–the world feels impossible. 

I don't have much trouble falling asleep, my body tired and my mind quickly falling back into the digital world. Of course. I'm pathetic. I do have lots of trouble waking up in the morning, but I eventually drag myself out of bed. It's an hour later than I want it to be, which fills my chest with a tight frustration, but I push past it and open my computer to begin classes.

I realize it's open to a coding screen. That's the other thing I've been working on.

I was headed to the garage with my phone last week when I glanced down and quickly changed my plans. I saw a text from my friend, Zara. "You busy?" She asked. 

I had a feeling I knew where this was going, so I replied with a, "Nope!" Sure enough, I was soon riding my bike down the road, my heart thumping a little too hard. The sky was bright, yellow leaves crossing my path as I pedaled harder. Cold air snapped at my cheeks, and I breathed it in happily.

My heart beat even faster when I came to the end of the road. As always, I hesitated at the light, even when there were no cars coming. I wondered if I should turn back, but I didn't. Eventually I rolled into the busier road and made my way down, towards the park. I flinched every time I heard the whirr of tires behind me, and I could barely see past the tangle of blonde hair flying into my eyes, but the speed made me feel alive.

Zara was already on the swings when I swerved through the gate, skidding on the gravel. "Yo!" I called with a smile, half waving as I hopped off of the seat and put my kickstand down. "Nice hair," I added, observing the purple and blue mixed into her rich brown locks that peaked out from underneath her beanie.

"Thanks, I died it myself," she said airily, brushing it off of her shoulder.

"No you didn't," I told her.

"Fine. They're clips."

"That explains the beanie."

"What? It's cold out."

"Uh-huh." I sat down on the swing beside hers. "So-ome things never cha-ange!" I sing-songed. I knew the clips were horribly scattered on top of her hair, just like she had worn them when we were nine. That had been when I went to public school. Since I started cyber schooling this year, I haven't seen as much of Zara, so it was a relief to know she was still the same goofball.

"Ugh, not Frozen!" Zara protested.

"Come on, you used to have a Frozen backpack," I reminded her.

"Used to. Meanwhile you still have a Hello Kitty T-shirt."

"Hello Kitty is cool, and I bet that backpack is still in your closet."

"I hate you," she informed me. We laughed, our voices echoing across the deserted playground. I kicked hard at the ground as Zara started playing music off of her phone. Soon I was going much higher than she was, practically flying away from the world. For a moment I envisioned the chain breaking. I would just fly forever. I shared this idea with Zara, and she laughed at me. "That would hurt," she commented.

I giggled. "Whatever."

Truthfully, I felt like I was flying already. The park is one of the few places I'm allowed to go by myself, let alone actually have the means to get to. Going there with Zara feels like freedom. With how I've been feeling lately–stressed beyond imagination even though I don't actually have anything interesting going on in my life, trapped in my own mind, boxed in by my stupid temper–freedom is something I'm learning to cherish.

"Oh! I saw this thing online, you have to do it!" Zara exclaimed after a few moments of swinging along to the music without talking.

"Do what? I'm not breaking any laws, ok." I giggled.

"Shut up, I'm trying to explain!"

"Sorry." I held my hands up in surrender, then nearly fell off of the swing. Zara snorted as I hurriedly regripped the chains. "Go on," I said casually.

"It's a coding competition for high schoolers. The winner gets free classes and a trip to LA!"

"Seriously? That's so cool!" I said, designs already coming together in my head.

"You have to do it," Zara said again.

I smiled. Why not? "Duh!" I agreed.

"I'll send you the link so you can look at it."

"You're the best."

We parted twenty minutes later, each heading in our respective direction for the long ride home. I felt light as a feather, full of sunshine and joy.

So that's another thing I've got going on. The days are taking on a regular schedule. Wake up, get mad about waking up late, school, meltdown (some days worse than others), guilt, coding (everyone assumes I'm doing homework on the computer; they think I work harder than I do), go outside if it isn't dark or raining (I'm beginning to hate the dark), dance (usually only for twenty minutes), crafts, watch YouTube, bed. Time is ticking away. Rain pounds on the garage's metal roof more often than not, making me feel even more anxious.

I never get everything that I want done. I always feel like I'm drowning, but in reality I'm fine. My headbands and key chains are getting sloppier. Every time I think I might be getting good at dancing, I look in the mirror and realize I'm still as awkward as ever. As for coding, progress is slow. It's been a hobby of mine ever since I took an online class for fun two years ago, but I've never tried anything as big as this contest.

I guess it makes sense that I'm stressed. It's clear that what I'm doing is too much, but it shouldn't be. I love these things. I want to be able to handle them. I will be able to handle them. Still, I hate this feeling. I know I'm wasting my time being miserable and that scares me, because I only have so much time. One day I'll wake up and be in the 'twenty years later' epilogue, a grown woman with actual responsibilities. I want to be a kid while I can, but I don't know how to escape myself. I try to be carefree, but sometimes it feels forced and leaves me even more stressed. It's like there's a gaping chasm inside of me, blocking the way to what I really want, whatever that is at this point. One wrong step and I'll go plummeting down into the void.

In the end, it's a tiny thing that sends me crashing down. I'm trying to perfect the chorus to "Can't We Just Leave the Monster Alive?", but I keep getting stuck on a certain part. I repeat it over and over. And over and over and over. And– I have no control over my feet. I hear plastic and metal crashing together as I stumble into my desk, sending craft supplies flying everywhere. I don't even hit that hard, it barely even hurts, but it's enough to make the tension that's been building for weeks light up as rage in my chest. 

I choke out a scream, wildly tearing things off of the desk and hurtling them across the room. Buttons, plastic headbands, tape, copper wire, it's all bouncing off of the piles of junk. My eyes are burning. My throat is burning. Everything is burning. I wish I could throw harder. I wish I were stronger. I yank the glue gun's cord out of the wall and throw that, too. A sickening crack fills the air and I look up just in time to see cracks like spider webs spread over the surface of the mirror. I'm frozen for a moment, staring at my fragmented reflection. 

"Are you ok, sweetie?" It's Mom. She cracks the door open and peeks through, concern clouding her brow when she notices the craft supplies littering the already cluttered room.

I humm out a reply, but it doesn't sound all that convincing. Especially since I'm crying the next second. And trust me, I would prefer to not be crying right now, but the tears are there anyway, tickling the inside of my head and spilling out of my eyes. No matter how hard I might try, I can't hold them back. And so I stand there ugly crying in front of the broken mirror. I never could hide my emotions.

Mom doesn't say anything else as she enters the garage, sidestepping clutter to come and wrap me up in her sturdy arms. I remain stiff for a moment, my movements delayed by the thoughts running through my head. It wasn't even twenty minutes ago that Mom was yelling at me about my horrible attitude towards Alex. Guilt washes over me as I lean into her embrace. She's so soft and warm. Why do I have to make things so hard for her?

She holds me like that until my tears subside. My back is a little stiff by the time she pulls away, and then it's only to take hold of my shoulders and look me in the eye. I'm having trouble looking back at her brown eyes, so full of compassion and well-concealed weariness.

"I'm sorry I yelled earlier," she says gently.

"Sorry for being crappy," I reply, sniffling.

"I get that you're stressed. Life can be…a lot. I shouldn't have lost my temper."

"It wasn't your fault." Because it wasn't. It was my fault. I was the one making everything difficult. "Mom, what's wrong with me?"

"I think you're overwhelmed with a lot of things right now. And I think you might not be the best at handling those emotions."

I let out a wet snort at that. "No duh."

I expect her to lecture me, point out all of my mistakes, tell me how to make it better but I still won’t be able to change anything. She doesn't. She doesn't say anything for a while, just takes my hand and gently rubs the back of it. "It won't always be like this. You're so much more than you think you are. You're going to be ok."

On the one hand, they sound like generic, empty words. She can't possibly know that anything will get better, and I like to think I have a fairly realistic perception of myself. Still, I want to believe her. Because she sounds so sure, so sincere. And she's looking at me with love, not judgment or even much pity. "I love you, Brooks. You're so loved. And that has nothing to do with your performance." And that was it, the words that break my resolve, crumble my walls. Finally the pieces clicked into place.

Fresh tears burn my eyes, and I have no choice but to bury my face in Mom's shoulder, letting the soft fabric of her blouse cushion me. She giggles, patting my head and then hugging me some more. 

We pull apart at the sound of Alex screaming from inside the house. "MOM! HOW LONG DO I COOK THE FRICKIN' HAM FOR?"

"Ham?" I ask, immediately perking up from how I was moments ago.

"Your sister's helping, so don't get your hopes up," Mom laughs, getting up to go assist her.

I laugh too, and then feel Mom's eyes settle on me, a fond smile on her face. "You good now?"

I shrug. "Better. Thanks, Momma."

I stare at the door for a few moments after Mom leaves, then turn around to assess the damage… and let out a verbal groan. The mere sight of the garage is overwhelming. It isn't going to fix itself, though. I gingerly pick up a piece of glass from the floor, careful not to cut my finger on the sharp edge. I can see my left eye staring back at me, bloodshot and shiny from crying. I hold the piece back a little and smile without opening my mouth, watching the dimples appear on either cheek. I don't look amazing, but I look alive. And that's the thing, isn't it? I'm still alive. And there's a lot more to my life than what's going on in my mind. 

I think back over the last month, over the good points instead of bad. Laughing with Alex. Swinging with Zara. Teasing Dad. Hugging Mom. Sunshine in between the clouds. Wind on my cheeks and stars in my eyes. People I love by my side. I'm loved. I'm loved by so many people. They might not understand every thought I have, and I might not be able to articulate everything, but they do care. Between all of the business, or maybe because of it, they make my life beautiful. 

It took me a while to realize it, but rain makes things grow. The darker a night is, the brighter the stars are. I might be a little bit of a disaster, but I'm not alone. I don't know anything about anything, but maybe learning is what makes life exciting.

My problems don't all disappear in a flash. This isn't a fairytale. There are still bad days, lots of bad days. Sometimes I kick myself back to square one, maybe even lower than that, but every time I make it back up. The light is definitely shining through. I might not be perfect, but I think I'm going to be alright.

    Research shown on youthtruthsurvey.org says that although a majority of students feel engaged in school, only about half actually enjoy going. I am homeschooled, but this still applies. This applies whether you go to public school, private school, homeschool, or cyberschool. There are differences, advantages, and disadvantages to each, but it is all school. All learning. All taken for granted. Here is an example:

      I am doing my math at the kitchen table. I read the description of points and lines in my book for the second time, realizing I don't actually understand this explanation of the concept I've had a chapter on every year since second grade.

"Mom, can you please help me?" I ask.

"What do you need help with?"

"This doesn't make sense."

So Mom explains it to me carefully. I still don't understand. She explains again. And again. And again. I won't allow my mind to understand, by now I'm frustrated.

"That is so dumb!" I exclaim. I'm about to cry.

    A week or two later I pick up my reading book, I am Malala. In horror I read the true story of a girl who's country is in conflict over many things, including education for girls. Schools were being bombed. Malala got shot in the head at age 15 for standing up for education. In one part Malala wrote, "When someone takes away your pens you realize how quite important education is." And here I am reading in my own bedroom near the window, perfectly safe. I shamefully remember my tantrum over math. 

    While we look at our books, frustrated that we don't understand it, another child somewhere else is looking at last year's books or a friend's books or the picture of books in their mind's eye, wishing they could be learning right now.

    According to humanium.org, about 72 million children can't go to school and about 759 million adults are illiterate worldwide. These numbers are simply crazy, and much of the credit for that goes to poverty (though sometimes, as in Malala’s story, it has more to do with legal conflicts). Poverty affects education in a number of ways. This is proven by globalcitizen.org, which lists a few. The funny thing is, while poverty is preventing learning, education really has the power to end poverty. Concernusa.org says that if all children in countries experiencing poverty could simply read, about 171 million people could get out of poverty; if every adult had an education, poverty rates could be cut in half. Keep in mind that while this is going on we students are probably complaining about our own school. We have this weapon against poverty, why don't we use it?

    It's all too easy to find excuses.

"My teachers are boring."

"This subject is too hard."

"School is tiring and I can't think when I'm tired."

According to spielgaben.com, there are legitimate reasons for students to seem to lose interest in school and not care about learning. It is the job of those running the school to minimize these things, however, that does not mean we students are allowed to stop trying.  The main issue is attitude. With a good attitude and some effort, we can enjoy school, or at least be thankful for it, despite it's annoying problems.

    Education is important in my life. Maybe I’m a bit of a nerd, but I love feeling smart. I am always excited when I find myself reminded of something I’ve learned while doing an ordinary activity. It is an amazing feeling to realize how naturally you can connect your textbook to the outside world. I also want to be an artist and a writer when I grow up and both of these things require education. Anyone can see how education is required to be a writer, but it may be harder to consider it a crucial part in becoming an artist. Art is a creative process, but facts and knowledge are necessary to share it and to make better works. Education is being used all the time in obvious or hidden ways to help people achieve their dreams. Because of this and since we have access to it, it would be simply foolish not to try as hard as we can to get as much as we can out of our education.

    Many students who can learn don't want to, and 72 million children who can't learn wish they could. Students may have very good reasons not to like school, but they still need to try hard to learn. We students need to be thankful for the blessing of education.  The least we can do is try to have a good attitude about our own learning. If we, as students, take our education seriously, we could help others with their education, too. Learning is very important and before those of us who can learn can help those who can't, we must understand just how much this matters and have a good attitude about it. Education can change the world.

impossible wish, but every chance she got, Elizabeth imagined herself as a pioneer. The reason Elizabeth hadn't told anyone was that she was afraid people would act like she acted about the Bible and judge by the outside, even if it did work out well for the Bible. 

With much more of a flat sigh, Elizabeth reached behind the dress to get a denim jacket. She pulled this on over her t-shirt, which was black with a sparkly purple music note outlined with silver studs. Purple leggings completed the look. Rosa had said this outfit was awesome (she had picked it out) but Elizabeth would much rather have worn the 1800s dress.

Elizabeth bounced down the short hall to breakfast and hardly noticed the glances her Mom and Dad kept shooting at each other. They were half-nervous and half-excited glances. Elizabeth wolfed down her toast and ignored what could have been awkward silence. After a few minutes (or an eternity depending on who you ask) Mom said, "Lizzie, could you get your sister up, we have some important news for you two." Elizabeth jumped up to wake her older sister. 

"What's so important that I have to wake up early?" Elizabeth's sister grumbled as she stumbled out in her pajamas.

"Vikki, Lizzie, your mother and I have something to tell you. You may not take it well, but this is what will be best for you two,” Dad said. Elizabeth's stomach lurched. She had read a conversation that began similar to this one in a book once, and the outcome was not good. Elizabeth could hardly swallow the toast in her mouth. Palms sweating and mind reeling, Elizabeth expected the worst. What her parents actually said made her laugh a bit. "We're moving out to Warren,” was what Dad said. 

Elizabeth was busy being relieved, but Vikki had no such occupation. “Are you kidding!?! Warren?! I won't ever be able to see my friends! Why would you do this?! You're ruining my life!" she cried before jumping up and stomping back to her room. Everything was silent after the passionate outburst, then Dad chuckled. 

"Well that woke her up," he said. 

Mom swatted at him with a towel and said, “I'd better go talk to her."

As they continued with breakfast, Elizabeth asked Dad, "We're still going to see our friends sometimes, right?"

"Of course! Warrin is right near Kinzoo, that bridge we visited last summer. It isn't too far a drive for friends to visit, it just won't be as convenient as it is now. You'll also make new friends at your new school,” he explained. Elizabeth hadn't even thought about switching schools. She didn't know why, but this idea excited her; at the innermost part of her mind, she felt that she was doing something wrong at her current school. Elizabeth still had more questions. "When are we going to move?" she inquired. "We already know what house we're going to buy, but we scheduled the closing date really far out in mid-July. We probably won't put this house up for sale until that month so we can stay here right up until that closing date," Dad told her. 

The worst part was going to be telling Rosa. Elizabeth dreaded this and tried to avoid her friend at school, but at lunch Rosa couldn't be avoided any longer. “Lizzie, is there a problem? You've stayed away from me all day long. Are you mad at me?" Rosa asked right off when Elizabeth sat down at their normal table. 

"What? Of course I'm not mad at you! Why would I be? I do have something to tell you, though,” Elizabeth lowered her eyes to stare at her lunch tray at that last phrase. 

"Well spit it out already!" Rosa demanded. 

“I'm moving. To Warren. We're leaving in about five months," Elizabeth said, preparing herself for some form of emotional outburst from her friend. Rosa looked crushed at first but soon a smile spread across her face.

“Is it April fools day and nobody told me?” she asked. 

“Nope, it's still March. I'm really leaving,” Elizabeth said. 

"Oh,” Rosa's face fell again, but her smile returned a moment later. "At least we still have five months, and half of that is Summer vacation. Let's have the best five months of our lives, and once you move I'll visit every month, Warren isn't so far away," Rosa said brightly. They started to make plans and soon Rosa's short brown curls were bouncing as she jumped up and down in excitement.

They did have the best five months ever, hanging out together almost every day, going to the lake, camping, fairs, and carnivals, and licking ice cream cones. Then it was time to go. Elizabeth didn't mind leaving the tiny house so much, it was saying goodbye to her friends that made her sad, but not as sad as she had expected to feel. Saying goodbye to Rosa was the worst part, but they agreed to email at least every week and visit each other every month.

Moving was crazy, even if they still owned their old house and didn't have to do it all at once. For a few days some of their furniture and other things were in one house while the rest was in the other, so something as simple as brushing their teeth could become a long search through lots of boxes and eventually a trip to the local store to buy new toothbrushes. The thing is that Dad hadn't wanted to rent a moving truck so he could save money, but really that would have simplified some things, and the gas money amounted to the same price a moving truck would be.

It was August by the time they were settled in and Elizabeth had time to explore. Now she had her own bedroom (helpful for when she woke up before Vikki, which was always) with a bookshelf on one wall, her bed on another along with the door, and her closet and dresser on the third wall. The walls were a sunny yellow and would soon be full of photos of friends and sketches of birds and flowers. On the fourth wall was a beautiful bay window with a view of the backyard, the woods behind it, and the mountain rising up behind the woods. It was her dream room, and Elizabeth could not wait to explore what lay beyond the window.

Elizabeth slowly walked through the woods, paying attention to every beautiful detail. Seeing something shimmer in the mid-morning sunshine, Elizabeth ran towards it, holding up her pioneer dress. She had worn it because she thought nobody would be around to see. Elizabeth must have looked quite silly splashing in the water in her old-fashioned dress, but she was having fun. She was in fact having so much fun that she didn't notice the girl approaching.

"Hello there! You look like you’re having fun!" the girl said. 

"Oh! I was just looking for my bracelet. I dropped it,” Elizabeth immediately lied. She looked down, pretending to search, and saw the hem of her costume. Oh no! This was embarrassing. Then her eyes traveled out a bit and she saw a hem much like hers. The girls stared at each other for a moment. Elizabeth stared at the other girl's light blue, flower-speckled dress, white apron, and lacey collar. The dress was slightly loose on the girl's thin frame, also it was a bit wrinkled and had a few dirt stains. The girl had wavy blonde hair in a bun at her neck, which was messy in a pretty way. What was most interesting about this girl was her bright green eyes, which were big and curious.

Meanwhile, those curious eyes were studying Elizabeth. Her dark brown hair was in two loose braids, tied with ribbons, under her bonnet and her face, though startled and confused, was friendly. The soaked skirt of the dress looked very comical.

"Nice dress,” Elizabeth said at last in a quiet voice. 

“Yeah, you too," the other girl giggled.

"I'm not really looking for a bracelet,” Elizabeth admitted. 

“I didn't think it would make sense to chase it upstream,” the observant girl said. “I’m Emily, what's your name?" she asked.

“My name is Lizzie,” Elisabeth said. 

"Is that short for Elizabeth?" Emily asked. Elisabeth nodded. "Why would you shorten it? Elizabeth is such a pretty name,” Emily said. 

“Actually, I agree with you, it’s just that it sounds old fashioned and I don't want anyone to think I'm weird,” Elizabeth said, deciding she could probably tell Emily, who had already seen the costume and wore a similar one. 

"Why do you care if they think you're weird? You are but in a good way like me. Who cares who knows it,” Emily said. 

This turned a light on in Elizabeth's brain. "Ok, I think I can be myself at school, if you help. I'm going into fifth grade this year; do you think we'll be in the same class?" Elizabeth asked.

"No, I'm not going to school here,” Emily said sadly. 

"Oh, I thought since you live around here..." Elizabeth began. 

"Actually, I don't... anymore, I was just taking one last walk through the woods. I didn't realize you moved in already, " Emily said, trying not to cry.

"Oh, I get it. You used to live in the house my family just bought,” Elizabeth said.

"Sort of..." and then Emily broke into tears. 

Once she had stopped her tears, Emily motioned for Elizabeth to follow her deeper into the woods. Presently the girls came to a clearing which was surrounded by a thick circle of pine trees. In the center of the clearing was a quaint wooden cottage. It looked like something out of Little House on the Prairie, but not quite so welcoming. Through the window Elizabeth saw that it was empty. The whole place felt lonely. Emily gripped Elizabeth's hand tightly and tears slowly rolled down her thin cheeks again. “This was your home, wasn't it,” Elizabeth whispered. Emily nodded. “Why are yον leaving?"

Taking a breath, Emily began to explain. "My Dad lost his job last year. The company went bankrupt. At first we stayed at our house while he looked for a job, but then the bank took it because we couldn't pay. Not knowing what to do, Dad turned to a friend who used to live at your house. He said he didn't have the room to shelter us, but he had a lot of money and property, so he built us this cabin. It's small, but we made it home. Everything was great until the owner of that house died and his relatives decided to sell it. Since we were on his property, we had to move, too. I was just coming for one last look before we move to my aunt’s house.”

"Wait, so my family owns this cabin now?" Elizabeth asked. Emily nodded again. "Well then you can stay!"

"What?! Shouldn't you ask your parents?" 

"They lecture my sister and I all the time about showing kindness and helping the poor. Of course they'll say yes!" 

Emily blushed but she was too excited to be embarrassed for long. "We can be best friends!" she said. 

"We'll do everything together!" said Elizabeth. 

"Just promise me one thing."

“What?”

"We'll always be ourselves together, even in public." 

"Deal,” Elizabeth said with a smile.

I start to feel this way,

So peaceful and so pleased, 

On a bright, vivid fall day. 

When the orange trees reach and reach. 

They try to touch the deep blue sky, 

Which reflects the other's brightness 

As the hours and days go by.

I'm reminded of my friends,

Our giggles as we play.

We laugh and laugh and laugh, 

Or talk the time away!

I think that some of us are the sky,

And others make the trees.

We're made to glow brighter together

As we smile on with ease.

Wind rustles in the leaves,

I notice as each one gleams 

That the sun is setting from behind.

The world is gold, it seems. 

I see all of this beauty 

As the leaves remember summer sun. 

They put on quite a show

To keep up all the fun!

I remember this day last year 

And all of the good ol’ times.

I'm excited for it all again 

When there's nothing new to put in rhymes. 

I always keep my eyes open. 

There's always something new. 

I love, love, love the past, 

But there's more fun in the present, too!

Everything is so exciting! 

I can't bear to wait for tomorrow,

Though I never want today to end! 

There's always a thing to learn, a new way to grow. 

True, school can be quite dull. 

Over math I feel my eyelids drop, 

But I love to know I'm learning,

And sometimes I don't want to stop!

I like it best to have art before my eye

Or perhaps a book in my hand. 

I get the strangest feeling, 

You might not understand.

I feel the ideas stir inside of me. 

I itch to grab the nearest pencil

And pour all the inspiration out.

My hands and mind just can’t sit still!

Jasmin seemed happy and later I found out why. She is detention queen and makes anyone in it do whatever she wants while she does nothing.

Thursday: Today I actually paid attention in some classes. I was actually happy because I made a friend. Her name is Malary and she is as short as a five-year-old. Because of that Jasmin used to tease her, But she learned to stand up to her and now she is helping me. We became friends in art class, when Jasmin was about to say something about my painting. Malary told her to leave me alone and then we got to talking and now we're friends.

Friday: Another good day! I sat with Malary at lunch and met her twin sister Melody and friends Angalina and Vicky. They invited me to a sleepover tomorrow! I finally have not ons, not two, but four new friends. And they have an art club I can join.

The weekend: What a great sleepover! We swam, we watched a movie, we had popcorn and cake, we talked, we became besties, and we had fun!!

After dinner Tiffany got right to work on her robot. But it did not go well. Tiffany may for may not have kinda sort of maybe just a little bit caught the garage on fire. "Mom!” she yelled. Once the fire was out Tiffany was pretty upset about her science project.

The next day when Tiffany got home she stared at her robot. She should have waited to build her robot at school, but that would give her only two days instead of seven. Tiffany decided to just push a button and see what happened. She pushed it and the room started spinning. When the room finally stopped spinning, Tiffany did not know where she was. She looked around, she was sitting on dry grass, there were woods behind her, and teepees in front of her and a girl on a horse coming right towards her. Tiffany screamed and jumped out of the way. The girl stopped and got off of the horse. She had black hair in two long braids, she had dark skin and a brown dress, she had a purple belt, purple hair ties, and a purple flower necklace. She had moccasins. The girl said something, then seeing Tiffany's blank stare she said in sign language "My name is Calfury." 

Tiffany said, “My name is Tiffany" while doing it in sign language. (Any time they say something they always do it in sign language). “Where am I?'' Calfury told her that she was in a Siox tribe. “How do I get back to New York?" Tiffany asked.

“What is New York?” Calfury asked. Tiffany stared at her. Who didn't know what New York was? "I'm not sure, that is... never mind," Tiffany stammered. 

Calfury responded, “I know not of these strange things that you speak of, but I do know that you must stay here and rest until you can think straight.” Calfury began to lead Tiffany to the village of tents, Tiffany followed obediently, she was tired.

Tiffany woke up, it was dark but there was a campfire outside. She looked around. She was in one of the tents on a bed which she now saw was stuffed with straw. She looked down and saw that she was wearing a dress a lot like Calfury’s except less purple. The whole thing looked Native American. Tiffany gasped. She remembered her report on Native Americans, she remembered programming her robot before it caught on fire, had she time traveled or had she just teleported? ‘Native Americans do still exist today,’ she thought. Only one way to find out. Tiffany went outside and found Calfury, a girl a few years older than Tiffany, a man, and a woman. “Tiffany,” Calfury said, “This is my sister Amitola and my mama and papa.

"Hello," Tiffany said, “Do you know what day it is?" 

Calfury looked confused, “Yes why?" 

"I was Just wondering,” Tiffany said. 

“It's January 5th, 1522," Calfury said. Tiffany stared at her. 1522! Calfury was over 500 years old! Tiffany took a deep breath. ‘Wait a minute, how will I get home?’ Tiffany wondered. "What's wrong?" Calfury asked. 

“I don't know how to get home,” Tiffany said she ran back to where she was when she met Calfury. That's it, where she met Calfury! Maybe she could find something she dropped from home and use it to make something to get back.

Tiffany searched the grass but she didn't find anything. She sighed, why had she thought that would work? Tiffany looked down and saw the bracelet her 9-year-old sister Makayla made her for her 12th birthday. Tiffany sighed again, she really missed her sister and not just her, she also missed her 14-year-old sister, Ariona, and her 16-year-old brother, Carter. She studied the bracelet. The bracelet, that's it! Tiffany ran back to Calfury's camp and bonked into her halfway there. “I'm sorry, are you ok?” Tiffany said in a hurry. 

"I'm ok, are you?” Calfury said. 

"I'm fine,” Tiffany said, rubbing her head. 

“You know I was not talking about your head, Tiffany,” Calfury said. “I meant about getting home, back to your people." 

"I think I know how to get home but, could I stay with you for a few more days?" Tiffany said.

Calfury nodded, "Of course," she said, "Stay as long as you like." The next day Calfury showed Tiffany around the village. There was a lady who made dresses with fancy metal stuff. There was a man who made horse saddles and lots of other businesses. Tiffany saw Calfury pay for something with small beads. She used the beads on her necklace to buy two dresses, one she liked and one she didn't like.

That night when everyone else was asleep, Tiffany got out the dress she didn't like and got all the metal off. Then she melded it into a device to get home. She put the bracelet on top. She pressed the button and held her breath and then she was home. Tiffany looked at the robot, in a way it had done what she wanted it to do. She could have learned a lot about Native Americans but she was too busy trying to get home. Then Tiffany had an idea, she went back to 1522 and spent the whole week with Calfury. When she got home she brought the dress she bought and even had her necklace back. Calfury taught her so much about Native Americans that Tiffany got an A+++ on her report! And no time even passed at home while Tiffany was in 1522.