Dad is like my rock,

Someone I can depend on.

They say we’re too alike,

And that’s why we’d always fight,

But in the end we’d come back,

Because he understands

Like nobody else can.

They are the ones who taught me

Things like numbers and theology.

Because of them I write and paint

And believe in a world to be made.

Mom and I could walk together

All night and all day,

Talking all of our troubles away.

Dad and I could sit for hours

Trading tricks on our computers,

And sharing our strange humor.

There aren’t enough words to describe

The impact they have on my life,

But this one thing is sure:

If ever they were lost,

I’d miss them for forever

But there’s still a me-sized dent in my bed,

Taunting me as my resolves reach their end. 

I hate myself.

I don’t want to be anyone else,

But I wish I could escape me,

Stop being this lazy.

I used to say anything was possible,

But there’s a lot I can’t do, 

Always thought I was motivated.

I guess that’s not true.

I’m a loser and I didn’t even know it.

I look in the mirror and hate that me,

But is she really who You see?

You see Your creation,

Tired and broken

But healed by salvation,

Worthy by Your hand,

Though on her own she can’t stand,

A girl doing what she can do,

A girl ready to live for You.

She fails again every day,

But You pick her up,

Just the same.

Tired, weary, and put to the test,

It’s only in You

That she can find rest.

I'm too shy

I don't want to be afraid

But still meek anxiety

Drives me insane

I want to make everyone happy

Be everything for them

But I just keep on failing

Again and again and again

I got sucked down the vortex

Vortex of a teenage mind

In this rolling, racing vortex

Questions are all I can ever find

This crazy vortex

Feels like a roller coaster

I'll fight through what comes next

This isn't over

In this cold and lonely vortex

I'll never be alone

God is here beside me

Guiding me back home

A gentle breeze in my mind

The softest hand holds my heart

My life is in His grip

He's held me from the start 

I'm caught in the vortex

Vortex of my racing mind

In this colorful vortex

Everything will turn out fine

New failure

What we want to change

Always makes a point to stay

What we need to stay

Is bound someday to change

Time flows too fast

They'll fall away

They'll never last

Moving on without us

No one left to trust

When we're stuck here

Trapped by our fear

Running in circles alone

Trapped in this box we call home

Surrounded by the rolling racing tide

But we can't enjoy the ride

Right here we stay stuck

The kids who never grew up

They say we'll learn and grow 

How do they know

They mock all of the adults

Who act like kids

Who won't give their all

Don't know how to exist

How long before that's you or me

Just when will we be

The kids who never grew up

Still we keep going

In the box, our own current flowing

The perfect future

We haven't found

Dusty wings brush the ground

Pulling, hoping, running, falling

Rushing, rising, living, flying

Maybe we didn't grow up 

Maybe we're still stuck

In our quirky reality

But we can still be

The kids who rose above

The kids who never gave up

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.

You're so much faster than me.

You know exactly what you want to be.

You're two steps ahead of me.

I'm two steps behind you.

You're running away, I'm losing hope.

Please wait for me, where did you go?

I'm lost alone.

I don't know what to do.

I just want to be like you.

Full of bittersweet memory.

When I found the melody of our summer

Amid cold and frigid winter.

A new dream unlocked inside of me,

An anticipation,

The culmination of

Everything I love,

A wonder for life.

I was ready to learn to fly

The day my wings began to grow,

Unfolding under winter snow,

Verses floating in my mind,

Magic I could almost find.

Puzzle pieces fall together

In this preview for warmer weather.

Life is not just memory,

But present joy,

The joy to breathe,

Every moment getting higher.

Passion burns in me like fire.

I still remember broken nights,

But on and on and on I’ll fight,

If only for the days like this,

When cold holds off,

When warm resists,

When highs and lows of adrenalin

Leave me in the place I’m in.

I don’t want to be

Crippled by a dream.

I want to be a daughter,

Making my parents proud.

I want to be a sister,

Giving my siblings smiles.

I want to be a friend,

Giggling through the night.

I want to be an encouragement,

Picking others up.

I want to be a Christian,

Living in the light.

I want to be a human,

Living vibrantly.

Creating magic

In the world around me.

I don’t want to miss a moment,

Focusing on only one thing.

I don’t want to be alone

In my world of beauty.

I want to write.

I want to draw.

I want to blog.

I want to dance.

I want to sing.

I want to have fun.

I want to smile.

I want to talk.

I want to laugh.

I want to help.

I won’t be

Crippled by a dream.

I will be a human.

I will write, draw, blog, dance, and sing.

I will have fun, smile, talk, laugh, and help.

I will live vibrantly.

Never growing old.

Ever rising passion, 

Simple wonder at the world.

Age 

Is just a number

Maybe 

We can choose it.

Old and wise,

Young and vibrant,

What if

We could have it all? 

What if

There were no limits?

     Charlie, who sat on Betty’s other side, was talking on and on about the anatomy of a polar bear, brushing back his messy brown hair. He was tall and lean with frosty blue eyes. Despite the fact that he was a total nerd, all of the girls at school insisted that he was hot. I didn’t see it.

     I glanced back to see that Georgia, Charlie’s twin, was patiently translating what her brother said into non-sciency terms for little Fred, who wanted to be a scientist. He was staring at her with round blue eyes, hanging on every word with his mouth partly open. Georgia gestured with her delicate hands, silver bracelets sliding around as she talked. She was an angel, and there was something odd about that. I’d known her my whole life, but I still didn’t know her. I wondered what was beneath the surface.

     “Hey!” I shouted as Nicolas slammed into the back of my seat and jostled my sketchbook. “Watch it!”

     He didn’t respond, instead trying to get Fred into a headlock. In return, Fred punched him. I groaned and rolled my eyes as the boys continued to wrestle in the back seat. Grandma and Grandpa kept up a jolly conversation in the front.

     So now you’ve met the cousin clan. It was always like this when we all came to stay with our grandparents in New York for Christmas: chaos. Betty was my sister; she and I lived with our parents in Florida the rest of the year. The twins were also from Florida. Fred lived in Kentucky and Nicolas in Ohio. We all came to our grandparents' house every year for a month in winter. Hence the chaos.

     "Stop it! I want to hear about the polar bears!" Fred yelped.

     "Nerd!" Nicolas taunted.

     I turned my attention back to the window, tuning the boys out as we passed an elaborate nativity scene. I focused on Mary's glass face. It was carved into a delicate smile, her eyes closed. I wondered how it would really feel to be in the scene. 

     "You know, kids," Grandma said, right on cue, "Mary must have been the bravest woman ever to live. Imagine being the Savior's mother!" Grandma said the same thing every year when we passed the new nativity. It always made me think. How had Mary felt?

     Two days later I was sitting in the corner of a church sanctuary. Kids were running laps and bouncing balls in the room that unfolded before me. Their loud voices echoed under the high ceiling. Adults were chatting and laughing merrily. I could see soda spilled on the floor near the pizza table; cookie crumbs litteredhe gray carpet. My sketchbook was open in my lap. I scribbled a few lines down as I noticed two kids chasing each other with a spoon. The kids brushed through the front of the church and I watched as May fell from the nativity in front of the pulpit. I hesitated, then got up to fix the display. The ceramic figure was cold in my hand. I turned her over, contemplating.

     "You're Anne's granddaughter, right?" a voice asked from behind me. There stood a woman about my mom's age with dimpled cheeks.

     My face turned red as I nodded. "Someone knocked this over," I explained.

     "Gotcha," she smiled. "Anything you found particularly special about it?"

      "What?" my brain always seems to work a little slowly in conversations with unfamiliar people.

     "You looked thoughtful; I was wondering why," she shrugged.

     "Just making sure it isn't broken," I said quickly, my face still hot.

      At that moment a little boy started screaming about someone taking his juice box.

     "Hang on," the woman told me, rushing away to help the boy, who I assumed was her son.

     Once she left, I had time to think. Nobody had ever asked me what I was thinking about. Ever. My mind was a veil, my thoughts and questions hidden from the outside world. Nobody ever tried to remove the veil. Not me. Not anyone else. Someone noticing and outright asking what I was thinking about was new territory. Maybe it was a special opportunity.

     "Anyway," I said the moment the woman returned, " I was just wondering how Mary must've felt." I was proud of myself for getting the sentence out before I lost courage.

     The woman chuckled, "She must've leaned on God's grace a lot."

     Now I was picturing some god dancing ballet. "Grace?" I ventured.

     "Giving us what we don't deserve. God probably gave Mary peace despite the crazy situation."

     "Isn't that called mercy?"

     "Mercy is not giving us what we do deserve. How much of the story do you know?"

     I shrugged, "Isn't it a classic story?"

     "Do you know why baby Jesus is our Savior?"

     "Wasn't it because he… actually, no, I don't know," I realized, blushing.

     "He was born through a sinful woman into a sinful world. Everyone deserved to die. The world is still like that today. When He grew up, Jesus took the punishment for our sons by dying on a cross. You might've heard about that around Easter before. If you trust in Jesus, you can have mercy and he'll give you grace when you need it."

     I stared at the woman, skeptical. "Can the world really be that bad?"

     "Think of all the world's problems: war, terrorism, murder. It can absolutely be that bad. Think about your life. Have you ever done something wrong?"–I nodded—"Then you've sinned."

     "Is it always a big deal, though?" I was feeling uncomfortable.

     "Not compared to some things, but it is compared to the spotless world that God intended," the woman said.

     I shrugged, "I guess."

     "Give it some thought," she advised. Just then the kid started telling again and the woman disappeared in the chaotic room. I set Mary down and wandered back to my corner. 

     The world doesn't change in a day. Mine didn't. I nearly forgot about the encounter, but reminders kept popping up. I began to wonder at the lyrics of Joy to the World and other classic songs. I stumbled across a devotional for 25¢ while searching for gifts at the thrift store. I found a gospel tract in the mall bathroom. 

     One night, a few days before Christmas, I couldn't sleep. I reread the tract, flipped through the devotional, and played gospel songs in my earbuds on repeat. I was only getting more curious, so eventually I tiptoed past Betty and Georgia, down the hall, and into the living room. The TV sat on top of a cabinet full of movies and old tapes. Buried behind the Harry Potter series was something else, though: an old, dusty Bible that had belonged to my great-grandmother. I cracked open the ancient spine and flipped to a random book. John seemed good. I sat against the wall, partially concealed by the big tree with the popcorn and mismatched ornaments. I read by the pinkish glow of the lights. And I read. And I read some more. I made the choice that night.

     Fast forward a year. We're here looking at the ice sculptures again. Fred is on his own trying to understand Charlie's words as Georgia is oddly silent. I wonder what's going on in her head.

     "You're quiet," I say, twisting in my seat.

     She shrugs.

     "Want to get out of this chaotic car? It's fine if not."

     "Sure, that sounds good."

     I yell up to Grandpa, and he lets us out, agreeing to pick us up at the nativity in a while.

     "What are you thinkin about?" I venture as we make our way down a lane of frozen candy canes.

     "Nothing really, just… I don't know. I feel sort of invisible," she giggled.

     "I get that. I used to feel like all I ever did was wonder about people, but I couldn't interact with them."

     Georgia snorts.

     "Not just real people, either. I always wondered how Mary felt. I mean, she was real, but like… not contemporary."

     "I bet she was scared. At least if she was halfway human. All of that pressure to be some saint… yikes."

     "Maybe. I still wonder about a lot of things, but I think I know how Mary felt. I think she felt full, knowing that God saw her and saved her and that she had a purpose, you know? I think she felt heard."

     By now we're back at the nativity.

     "You lost me," Georgia laughs.

     I glance thoughtfully at Mary's statue. "How much of the story do you know?" I ask.

Mirror, mirror, go away.

Don’t ruin me, don’t waste the day.

Mirrored wall breaking down,

I think at last I hit the ground.

fiercer until she thought her body would explode. She opened her mouth to cough or scream, but was met with the thick taste of rot. She writhed, kicking her arms and legs with the little strength she had left as the invisible enemy pursued her. It was no use, no matter which she turned, it was all the same. All black. All painful. Her mind was racing like a guinea pig on its wheel, so fast that she couldn’t catch any of the thoughts. Tears stung her eyes. Everything hurt. The world was spinning. That was when she saw a murky, green-brown light. She wasn't thinking at all, all she knew or cared about was reaching that light. Her own body was a blur as she thrashed with all her might. At last she bobbed up into blinding sunlight, coughing fiercely and gasping for air. She fell under again almost immediately, but kicked her way up once again. The water almost seemed angry, though. She was only able to hack out one strained shriek for help before it forced her under again. This time she stopped fighting. The world was already dark. Now it was going numb, too. 

"Are you sure that's all you remember? Sarah asks as Kayla finishes retelling the story.

"Uh huh,” Kayla replies in a hollow tone. "After that I woke up on the beach and you were there, and we started talking. You mentioned a friend named Kayla and I thought that was familiar. You know what happened since then." She says it all without any emotion, fiddling with the pink petals of a nearby flower as she talks. They are hidden in Sarah's garden, which is between Mrs. Wilson's house and the shed that serves as Sarah and Kayla's bedroom. The shed is tucked back into the dry weeds where nobody notices it. Because nobody ever goes back there, the garden is a bit secret. The reason it has to be secret is because clean water is scarce in the town. It needs to be brought in from other places, but it's getting scarce there, too. Not only does Sarah need to share her rations to make the flowers grow, she needs to protect the flowers from the toxic rain. Because of these inconvenient factors, gardening is illegal. Sarah can't give up her garden, though. It's the only place where she feels like she can breathe, both literally and mentally. Now sunlight is slanting through the leaves and landing on the rusty bench where Sarah and Kayla sit. Sunflowers are growing up to their left, and the ground ahead is carpeted in purple. Two white butterflies are playing in the air, and a bird chirps not far away.

"I know what happened from there up until you saw those butterflies and said they reminded you of something. What was it?" 

“I don't know.”

"Well, think! Don't you want to remember?" Sarah presses gently. Kayla shruggs.

"Hey, I get that knowing can be hard. I know how my parents died, and now I'm afraid of fire, but I'd still rather have that than just cluelessness."

Kayla is silent. 

"Do you want to live in the dark?"

"I really don't care." 

"Do you care about anything?"

“No.”

“I should've known, I guess. Ever since I met you, you haven't smiled once. You're beautiful, but you’d be so much prettier if you smiled.” Sarah pauses thoughtfully.

Kayla knows what she wants to ask, but she is hesitant. "Do you think I have a personality?"

Sarah doesn't know what to say. She doesn't want to be rude, but Kayla needs her to answer honestly. "I think you could have one,” is all she can offer. 

"I knew I didn't,” Kayla states almost matter-of-factly.

"I'm sorry.”

“But you think I could?" There is almost a hint of emotion in her tone. The tiniest glint of hope. "Of course, who's stopping you?" 

"I don't know. Somebody."

"What?" 

"I think... I think I used to have a personality. I used to care. I can just barely геmember what it felt like. I want it back, but I just... can't. Something won't let me." 

"Kayla! Why didn't you tell me sooner?" Sarah asks, excited. 

Kayla shrugs."What's the point?"

"The fact that you want it proves there's still something there! Whatever is holding you up,

we can work past it. Nothing can block you from being yourself!" Sarah exclaims, her brown eyes sparkling passionately.

Kayla just stares into space.

“Pease. Just try,” Sarah pleads more gently. 

Kayla continues to sit perfectly still, her graceful hands folded in her lap, for an unnaturally long time. 

"Kayla?" Sarah begins to get worried. “What's going on?”

Kayla still doesn't move, but her breathing gradually gets heavier until she is panting as if in terror. 

"Kayla..."

All at once she sucks in her breath and springs up off of the bench. She leans against a small blossoming tree and does the most shocking thing while still catching her breath. She smiles-- no, grins. True to what Sarah said earlier, Kayla is a thousand times more beautiful when she smiles. Her pale skin lights up and two perfect dimples appear on her smooth cheeks. Her petite nose scrunches ever so slightly and, most importantly, her crystal blue eyes open wide to let the world in. She is so shocked, all she can do is laugh.

Sarah, taken aback, can't help giggling, too. “Kayla! Are you ok?" she manages to squeeze out. 

Kayla shakes her head, causing her curls to bounce before answering. "Not Kayla! I know who I really am!"

"What?" Sarah stops giggling and stares into the eyes of Kayla, who has also regained her composure. "Did you say…” 

Kayla nods. "You were right, nothing can stop me! I remember everything! I have a personality!” 

Sarah doesn't know how to respond. “Kayla, that's... amazing!" 

"I remember my real name, too. Call me Kalalaya.”

"Kalalaya?" 

She nods.

"That's not a normal name. I love it." 

"It's not normal for humans, anyway." 

"Wait..." 

"I'd better explain from the beginning."

So Kalalaya tells the whole story. As it turns out, she isn't human. She's a living particle of water. The community that she lived in before makes up the lake near Sarah's hometown where the foul water comes from. They are called the cursed, because they were doomed to a stagnant life of waste by the evil witch, Genella. Legends claim that Genella cursed the community by mistake in an experiment but didn’t bother trying to fix the damage. Nobody could punish her since the crime was unintentional, but she still faced seclusion. The lack of contact with other creatures and the knowledge that everyone was blaming her made Genella  hard and bitter.

The curse made everyone useless. Some got angry and rebelled, completing their usual journeys anyway. This spread the poison farther and harmed the crops in town. Most just stayed put, living a useless life of nothingness. Spirits in the community sank low and lives became bland. Kalalaya handled it differently. She knew she couldn't let anger control her since that only harmed others, but she wasn't going to sit around and let life pass by without any action, either. What she did was make her own fun and adventures where she was, spreading her happiness and curiosity with the rest of the community to ease the gloom. Life was pretty good for Kalalaya, who never stopped dreaming about going on journeys someday, but what she didn't know was that she had an enemy. It was Genella, who was by that point an angry and depressed creature who didn’t want anyone to be happy without her. With nothing better to do, she set her focus on getting rid of Kalalaya.

An opportunity came sooner than Genella had expected when rumors started spreading about a water creature who'd turned into a human. Kalalaya thought that would be the perfect opportunity for adventure, so she began searching out ways to do it herself. That was when Genella reached out in disguise and offered to perform the magic on the over-eager girl.

"We met in a cave where she told me to go a few weeks ago, and then she cornered me and revealed who she really was and that her plan was to turn me into a dull human forever to get rid of me,” Kalalaya goes on.

"Why would she tell you?” Sarah asks, eyes wide. 

"I'll bet she wanted to see me afraid, rotten scum--"

"Were you afraid?"

“Well, I don't think anyone could be pleased about something like this! But it's over now, and I have my personality back, so it worked out." 

“Did it, now?” a high, cruel voice demanded from the side of the garden, making both girls jump. They turn to see a tall, bony figure standing with her hands on her hips. Her wrinkled face is creased in a permanent frown.

"Mrs. Wilson! W-why are you--" Sarah begins. 

"Sarah, dear! I asked you to wash the dishes ages ago! Now stop playing in fairyland and show some gratitude for what I've done for you!" Mrs. Wilson snaps, uprooting a sunflower and tossing it aside as she talks. 

"Yes m--”

"Wait!" Kalalaya puts her arm out to stop Sarah from standing up. 

"Ah, and Kayla--"

Kalalaya growels at this. 

“--you never emptied the waste bin, and now I've got to do it myself.” With that, Mrs. Wilson picks up a basket the girls hadn't noticed before and dumps its contents into a patch of petunias. 

"You can't just--”

"That's going to hurt my people!” 

"Oh, that's right, Kalalaya, was it?" 

"How long have you been listening?" 

"Long enough to know what I need to know." 

"And that means…”

“I know that my fool of a sister is at it again. I'm on her side this time, but of course she can't pull it off! Now I'll need to step in." 

"Wait, did you say--”

"Yes, yes, what a shock. Unfortunately, Genella is my sister.”

"But you're a human..."

"Did you honestly think she just made that one mistake? I'm another of her failed experiments. Filthy rat turned me human, can't turn me back." 

"Then why are on her side now?" Kalalaya asks, immersed in the story.

"You were this close to breaking her curse with your happiness--" Mrs. Wilson spits this word out, “--and they don't deserve to fly free while I'm stuck here. Getting rid of you was the best bet. Since she couldn't do it, I will," Mrs. Wilson raises her voice on the last two words, making both girls jump. In a quick motion, she has them hovering in the air above the bench. They both shriek at the same time. Kalalaya begins kicking and writhing in the air while Sarah freezes in terror.

"Let us go!" Kalalaya shouts. With a nod of her head, Mrs. Wilson dropps both girls to the ground. Sarah crashes into the corner of the bench and sits panting on the ground. Kalalaya Falls onto a thorny rose bush. "Thanks," she grumbles. 

"That was just for fun. Now it's time to finish what my idiot sister started!" 

"She's going to take away your passion. Do something!" Sarah whispers urgently. 

Kalalaya immediately begins to panic. Palms sweating, she has the feeling like she's suffocating. It's the same way she felt when Genella cursed her the first time. But she made it through that. She can do it again. Before she knows what she's doing, she stands up and realizes that Mrs. Wilson is on the ground breathing hard. "What did I just do?" Kalalaya asks.

"Something,” Sarah breathes.

"Did I... take her powers?"

"Looks like it."

Mrs. Wilson is now pulling herself up, sputtering and swearing. She waves her arms at the girls like mad, but nothing happens. 

"Were you too strong for her?"

"I guess." 

"I wonder if you could defeat Genella, too. Would that break the curse?" 

"It makes sense. Going after the source has to work better than ignoring the problem. I'll just have to figure out how to get to her." 

"Are you aware that you're shrinking?" 

"Ah! What? Sarah, I think I'm changing back!" Kalalaya is already half as tall as her friend. 

"Well, that explains how you'll get to Genella."

"Will I be strong enough to defeat her?" 

"Of course. You can handle anything."

"What about Mrs. Wilson?"

"I'll get the police to take care of her."

"And you?”

"I'll be fine, but will I ever see you again?"

"Every time it rains, "Kalalaya promises just as she shrinks so small that Sarah can't see her.

Dad called it Abbyland.

I was always singing along 

To the theme songs of my favorite cartoons 

Over and over

And playing ponies 

All day long

But then the cheesy songs faded out

And the ponies trotted away

Gradually,

So I didn't notice.

Now I'm fourteen years old,

Something I never thought would happen. 

Here I am.

I used to think I'd never change, 

That I couldn't if I tried.

Now I'm not so sure.

I'm a teenager.

How long before I dress like it? 

When will I start to hide myself in makeup?

How long before my dolls go untouched? When will video games rot my mind? 

Has it already started?

I like a boy band. 

This is the beginning of the end.

Maybe I should just give in

And follow the trends, 

But I don't want to be

Just any regular teen. 

I'm not giving up on me.

I guess this is normal. 

I'm just growing, 

But what if we can grow too far?

What if we can forget who we are? 

When do we outgrow our personality? 

Am I leaving myself behind me? 

What if I could just flip back a page

And be that little girl again?

Who is she?

Where is she?

I want her

To still be me.

I guess it's good

That life goes on

And bad times pass, 

But what's the price?

The good times fade off, too,

And we're left

To miss ourselves.

I'm thinking all this through,

My mind is one big mess,

When the sun smiles down on me,

Relieving all the stress.

I'm six years old again,

Reaching for the sky. 

Limits, they don't matter. 

I feel like I can fly.

Nothing has changed.

We don't change. 

We can't. 

What if we just expand? 

I've learned to try new things,

And that is good.

I don't need dolls or ponies to be me,

And that is good.

The present is forming around the past,

Like the rings of a tree

Coming in fast. 

The first is still there,

Close to the core.

Maybe it's just hiding

To make room for more.

Maybe if I let it happen 

And don't go to extreme or extreme,

It'll happen gracefully

And that tree

Will still be me.

Maybe I should just live for life 

And like what I like. 

I don’t usually go with the flow,

But I won't try or try not to grow. 

Maybe someday I'll buy ripped jeans 

And try a croptop,

But if I do,

I hope I'll smile in the mirror

And remember to remember

Every heartbeat that brought me there. 

Remember who I was, 

Who will still be

Who I am.

Remember to cherish every moment.

I'll learn a little maturity,

But I won't lose me.

I've always been here. 

Is it wrong to like good music?

Am I still me if I don't watch kids shows? 

The outside doesn't define me.

I know

I will always be 

That child

At heart.

And the lines do get bent.

We're teenage girls

Expanding our worlds

And this is the best time.

To be alive.

I'm normally calm.

Compared to other kids I'm an angel, 

But I'm still stupid 

And smart about it.

I am careful

That as far as I can see,

The only person I could hurt is me,

So let's go a little crazy 

And laugh until it hurts 

And then just be.

or another. Well, what do we do? I'd try cutting down on TV time and spending those hours in God's word instead. It's ok to watch some TV, but you need to guard yourself. You can do this by turning off anything that isn't good for your mind and making sure you do other things in life as well. Next time you pick up the remote, try to think about what you're doing first.

     "Friend? Molly's your friend now? Molly?" Mindy asked scornfully.

     My face became a furnace as my stomach dropped to my toes. "What? No! She just won't leave me alone! I thought she was too small to be a real threat, even if she is Japanese, so I didn't bother trying to get rid of her." I don't know why I said that. It wasn't true, I just hated Mindy's tone.

     I was thinking all of this over when suddenly I heard the roar of an engine overhead. What the... I looked up to see a bomber with the Japanese symbol on it. I whipped my head around to cast an uneasy glance at the harbor to my right.

---------

     Days later I looked out the window to find a completely different island. The beaches were guarded with barbed wire and most of the ship's were gone. Destroyed. 2,335 men were killed plus 68 civilians. 1,178 more were wounded, including 35 innocent people standing by. I was one of those 35.

       I shuddered at the memory. The smoke had thickened the sky in an instant and the sharp fumes had made me dizzy. Debris from our ships were flying everywhere. I tried to run but suddenly I was slammed to the ground. I couldn't feel my legs. The whole world had begun to spin. I was sure that I was dead when I saw Lillian. She was running towards me in all of the mayhem. The world went black before anything else could happen.

     The next thing I knew I was seated on the couch with my mom. The scent of tea sweetened the air. Lillian was gone. I never saw her again after that. I never got to thank her. Or to apologize.

      Mom's are so perfect. They know when you need to talk and when all you want to do is curl up the legs you can't feel and cry because you're so confused by this point that you don't know what to say or even think. They know that sometimes you just have to let something out, so they let you scream like a madman as loud as you like. They also know when all you need is a good book.

       Oh, it felt so wonderful to be on solid ground once more! We had really made it. Well... not all of us. I remembered my brother with a sharp pang of sadness. Taking a shaking breath, I reminded myself that he was in heaven now.

     My legs wobbled beneath me, for they had grown accustomed to the tossing waves and the constant rocking. Unable to stand, I knelt down and have thanks to God instead. All around me other people knelt in prayer, too. It was like a Sunday's service right then and there. We hadn't even planned it out.

      It was the dead of winter. I shivered through my worn cloak and work dress, but the view below made it all worth it. The wilderness of trees and bushes before us was laced in a delicate frost that made even the thorns beautiful. It was as if a great spider had woven her web all around the forest. I had seen plenty of snow before in England, but it had never lost it's beauty to me. Something about this land was different, though. I was meant to be here. Agitated grumbles swelled up around me after some time, but all I could hear was the singing of my heart.

     Wild animals ran by, much surprised to find us at their doorstep, but they weren't what the leaders were worried about. I peeked  between shivering shoulders and made my way through the growing crowd to see what the trouble was. I heard cold whispers of "Barbarians" and "Wild men" that sent ants up my spine. But when at last I got to the front of the crowd, I saw nothing of the sort. What I saw was a small group of men with flesh and bones not so different from mine. They all had two arms, two legs, and faces just like me. So what was everyone scared of? Their skin was strangely dark and their clothes so very different, but what did that matter?

I was lost in thought long after I finished the introduction. How could this girl be so cheerful against all odds? I guess she was just doing what she could to make the situation better. Why couldn't I do that? I could try a new view. Lillian was gone. There wasn't anything I could do about that. What I could do was change my friends' opinions on her. Maybe one day she would come back and find an island ready to accept her, to admit that we are all humans. Maybe we could all take on a new view. 

explaining some complicated algebra in front of the computer. She sits at the wooden extension on the end of our table. Her hair, graying at the tips but dark everywhere else, is pulled into a loose bun and her hoodie has a cross on it. Kennedy wears a look of annoyance and confusion with her eyebrows scrunched together on her tan face. Her greenish-hazel eyes keep darting towards the clock on the oven.

    Meanwhile, Mason has already finished his schoolwork. "Hey Dad!" he begins.

"What?" Dad asks with a smile as he looks up from his phone. He had been working on a sermon with his brow wrinkled in two lines of concentration. 

"It was funny, on Veggie Tales..." Mason begins explaining every detail of one little joke that he heard on TV. 

"Well that's fun!" Dad says brightly, though I can tell he doesn't really care. With Mason's big mouth and glasses, I'm surprised there's any room left on his face for the fat Rater nose.

    Maddy and Benjamin are in the living room playing with Frozen dolls and Mario stuffed animals. They also finished school. "Benjamin, make Bowser say, 'What are you doing?'" Maddy commands.

"What aw you dooen?" Benjamin repeats in a monster voice. The game continues on like that. Maddy brushes her messy hair out of her face and has a hard time getting her purple glasses untangled. Benjamin has a quizzical look on his face, I don't know why. His thin legs are just the right length to reach the couch, which is their play surface. 

    Gracie makes the scene even more chaotic. She is sitting on the table holding a board book and pretending to read when she sees our dog, Annie, trot by. Gracie's curls frame a face that is taken over by a giant smile. "Kit-ty, kit-ty, kit-ty!" she says in a high voice. Then she crawls over to look and ends up falling right off of the table! Everyone drops what they were doing and runs to see if she's OK. She is, and now she has seven family members comforting her and calming her cries.

    This is my first world; my home with my big, caring family.

    Now enter my second world. Wade through the questions I ask myself and the answers that are the foundations of my stories. Find the strings of ideas just waiting to fly off the tip of a pencil and feelings anticipating expression. Look around at the peaceful thoughts, hopes, and dreams weaving together into a beautifully calm fantasy.

    I am sitting amidst whatever scene I wish to draw. Right now it is a bright green dome of leaves full of light and color. A notebook is in my lap and I am scribbling vigorously, pausing often to think and stare into the distance. My eyes light up with an idea and I send it around the test tracks in my mind before squealing in excitement. Then I turn back to my paper. 

    This is my second world, full of ideas and fantasies. It doesn't take as much explaining as my family, or maybe I just don't have the right words to tell any more, but it is just as crazy in a peaceful sort of way. Maybe nobody understands that besides me, but I love it nonetheless.

    My two worlds are very different -- that you can clearly see -- but I need both of them and they both need each other. My family often serves as inspiration for what goes on in my mind and notebook, and my younger siblings are always glad to listen to my writing and share their opinion. My family is always supportive in my attempts to make my work into something big, and I am so thankful for that. On the other hand, when I have a problem with someone, art and writing help me to calm down and/or know how to deal with the situation. These are just a few examples. My worlds aren't like oil and water. They mix, but at the same time they stay two different things, so they are more like salt and water.

    One thing, or being, really, permeates both my worlds and holds them together. That being is God. My parents have always taught us the Truth, and everything special about our family focuses on honoring God. Meanwhile, I try to bring glory to Him with all that I do in my fantasy world.

JOANNE: Why do I always have to have my baby brother trailing me like some lame puppy?!

PAUL: J-Joanne...

JOANNE: None of my friends have annoying brothers following them all the time!

PAUL: Joanne! Getoutoftheway! (He shoves JOANNE out of the way just as a wide tree crashes right where she had just been standing.)

JOANNE: Paul! (She is sitting on the ground about a foot away from the tree. PAUL is sticking out from under it. He is unconscious.)

SCENE 2

(JOANNE is sitting alone in front of a light blue hospital bed where PAUL is lying, still unconscious.)

JOANNE: Mom and Dad just left to pick up lunch. I'll save my side salad for when you get better since you even eat like a nerd. (She laughs softly.)

(The DOCTOR, a tall middle aged man with dark skin and hair, enters the room. JOANNE doesn't notice at first.)

DOCTOR: If he gets better.

​JOANNE: (She jumps at the voice behind her and the terrifying words it spoke.) What do you mean? You must be stupid, of course he'll get better!

DOCTOR: (He is nervously fiddling with the end of his coat sleeve.) I'm sorry, but we get cases like this all the time.

JOANNE: (She tries to sound sarcastic but her voice wobbles unconvincingly.) A tree falls on a boy every day, huh? Gimme a break!

DOCTOR: A patent comes in sick or injured and the family only talks about when they get better. But when they don't get better, the family wails louder than a siren when I give the news. Been through it a thousand times.

JOANNE: (Tears are now dripping down her cheeks. Her voice is small and scared.) He might not survive?

DOCTOR: I really can't say. Here's my advice: focus on the good memories.

JOANNE: (She is talking to herself quietly.) Good memories...

SCENE 3

(A YOUNG JOANNE is sitting on a bed with a colorful quilt on the right side of the stage, crying. A YOUNG PAUL comes in, a look of concern on his face.

YOUNG PAUL: (He sits on the bed next to JOANNE and pulls her into a wordless hug.) 

YOUNG JOANNE: (She slaps his hand and scootches away.) Go away! You're not Buttercup.

YOUNG PAUL: (He walks towards the left side of the stage with his head down until he comes across a can of cat food and his eyes light up. He opens the can and gags, then walks all around the stage waving the stinky can around.) Here kitty kitty! Comere Buttercup! (The lights slowly darken and get bright again. He yawns and his head nods a few times, but he stays awake. When a yellow cat walks onstage, he triumphantly picks her up and brings her to the bed where JOANNE is still sleeping.)

SCENE 4

(The scene is back to the hospital room with JOANNE and PAUL. The DOCTOR has left.)

JOANNE: (She is crying even more now.) I'm so sorry, Paul! I ruined that like I ruin everything! (She bursts into a fresh batch of tears and puts her head in her hands.) I am a terrible sister.

YOUNG PAUL: (He is speaking from offstage.) Don't worry, Jo. I'm sure you can do better.

JOANNE: Not if I never get the chance! (She starts  angrily pacing back and forth across the floor by PAUL's bed.) What is wrong with me? This is my fault. All of it. I'm such a stupid jerk! (She stops pacing  and sobs, her shoulders heaving.) Paul, (She gasps before continuing.) I don't deserve you. I never have. But it's not fair that you should die, especially not because of me. I need to be more like you , but I can't if you're not here to help me. (She stops and sinks to the ground crying so hard. She curls into a ball and rocks back and forth until she calms down a bit.)

YOUNG PAUL: (Again he is speaking from offstage.) You know what I would do here, try it.

JOANNE: (She takes a deep breath and nods.) Dear God, um, thanks for giving me such a great brother. I'm sorry I didn't realize it until now. Sorry for how I treated him. I promise I'll try to do better if You'll only let him live. Please let him live. Please. Give me a second chance.

SCENE 5

(An OLDER JOANNE is standing in the driveway of a big house next to a red car. An OLDER PAUL is standing next to JOANNE with a big smile on his face.)

OLDER JOANNE: Can you believe I got my learners permit? Soon we'll be cruisin' all across the country! (She opens the car door.)

OLDER PAUL: Awesome! I can't wait! (He hops into the backseat of the car.)

OLDER JOANNE: Um, wait, are you coming today? I mean, this is my first drive in real traffic.

OLDER PAUL: Which is exactly why I can't miss it!

OLDER JOANNE: Are you sure you trust me?

OLDER PAUL: Always.

Simple Description

     The word for me is dreamer.

Growing up Without Getting Bogged Down

     Our passions still keep us youthful.

    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.

Abigail rolled over and took her Bible off of her bedside shelf. She dutifully read a chapter of Luke, underlining several important verses. 

____________________

She mentally went through her list of things to do to get ready for the day as she picked out a floral dress and pink capris to wear. Several whiny voices drifted through the door crack from the living room as she dressed. 

Oh, did you think this was the story of a perfect girl with a perfect life? Not quite. This is the story of Abby Rater and her crazy but wonderful family. More importantly, this is the story of God’s way of working in their lives. 

____________________

As Abby smoothed a brush through her tangled bedhead, she looked over at her sister’s perfect hair. It was dark at the top where the dye had grown out, but everywhere else were waves of a lighter, almost golden, brown. Abby thought bangs looked awful on most people, but Kennedy could make them work. In fact, she could make anything work; everything about her looked perfect.She could be a model if she wanted to. Now look at the contrast between this and Abby’s frizzy mess, which she was now pulling into two tight braids.

Kennedy was bending to kiss Patches, who was napping in her usual spot on Abby’s bed. Kennedy loved cats, sometimes too much, according to all of the scratches on her hands. Macey was a timid little angel. She gave a friendly ‘Brrrroew!’ of greeting whenever she entered a room and she let anyone in the family do anything they wanted to her without so much as swattimg at them. She got scared of new people, though and hid well when visitors came.

Lets just say that Patches had more spunk. Abby liked that Patches had personality, and it likely added to her own bond with the cat. Since the day Patches was found, Abby had been her favorite. Patches made Abby’s bed her own, always there for comfort or cuddle. In return, Abby was often petting and cuddling to show her love. She was, however, careful not to smother like a certain older sister.

__________________

Kennedy threw on a hoodie and saved her extensive outfit styling for after breakfast as she turned on her phone, Abby’s virtual enemy. Kennedy was always staring at that screen texting friends, playing Roblox, watching YouTube, and who knew what else. The one and only good thing about Kennedy’s phone was music. Kennedy seemed to be full of music. She played guitar at church and danced to K-pop songs at home. Abby didn’t understand K-pop whatsoever (what’s the point of music if you can’t understand the words?) and she didn’t like the tunes much, either, but she knew that Kennedy liked it a lot so ultimately (though she would never say so out loud) Abby was glad that her sister had that. After all, her older sister was also her best friend and, when she put the phone down, Kennedy made a great one. The girls did practically everything together and there was nobody Abby liked better to laugh with than Kennedy.

____________________

In the living room ten minutes later, Abby found her four younger siblings. Mason, Maddy, and Benjamin were all watching a YouTube video of someone playing video games on the TV. They may have gotten out of bed earlier than she had, but they hadn’t gotten dressed yet and Abby knew that they hadn’t moved from the couch much.

Judging by the mess of toys, pillows, books, and baby wipes in the room, Gracie had been busy. She sat on the sill of the big triple window holding a bag of chips as big as herself. A smile showed in her dimpled cheeks and scrunched up nose. The morning sunlight came through the window and created a golden halo to surround Gracie’s curls.

“Are we still walking Tucker later?” Abby asked Mason as she shoved pillows and cracker wrappers aside to set a basket of clean laundry down on the long sectional couch. 

“Sure,” Mason said happily. He held out his fist for their special handshake. 

Tucker was the newest addition to the family, a seven month old hound from the ANNA Shelter. He wasn’t trained at all yet and had a tendency to annoy the rest of the family, but he really was sweet and loving despite it all. Abby and Mason tried to walk him every day to get him out of the house and teach him to behave.

Annie then trotted into the room with her ears perked up. Her tongue hung out of her mouth in what looked like a smile. “Yes, we’ll bring you, too, Annie,” Abby said, bending down to pet their well behaved dog. 

“Aww, you’re such a good girl,” Mason cooed, giving Annie one of his signature hugs. 

“Kitty kitty kitty!” Gracie squealed as she ran to the dog on her chubby legs.

“Benjamin, want to play Mario stuffed animals in our room?” Maddy was asking.

“Shuw,” Benjamin consented and they scurried off, Maddy humming a tune as she made it up. Maddy was like Kennedy with her love of music, but in several ways she was much more like Abby. She was just as fun and quirky, she said some surprisingly thoughtful things, and somehow they just seemed to come from the same dreamland.

Like Kennedy and Abby, Maddy and Benjamin did nearly everything together and were constantly laughing hysterically about nothing. They were “best buds”. Maddy was the sassy boss and Benjamin the quiet follower. He was very quiet when he wasn’t crying. He did cry somewhat often, but that was the price of his sweet, sensitive heart. It was well worth it.

Abby was folding (and wishing she could fit into) Maddy’s unicorn shirt when Mom and Dad came in from the back deck. Dad was discussing a trucking job that he had applied for. This job had better hours than he was currently working at FedEx so he could provide for the family and have time to see them, which was what he cared about most in life. Mom was listening to him -- she was great at listening -- while putting bread in the toaster, holding Tucker on his leash, and helping Abby with the laundry. It may have been summer vacation and a Saturday no less, but the parents were still working hard and making it look easy.

“I’m sorry, do you need help with anything?” Dad asked Mom as she brought a stack of plates to the table.

“I think I’ve got it,” Mom said with a certain brightness in her tone that matched her smile. 

“Let me help you, woman!” Dad exclaimed loudly in his pretend old man voice. The kids all giggled and Dad continued. “Back in my day you accepted some darned help!” The children continued to laugh as they gathered around the scuffed, cluttered, happy kitchen table and Dad continued to tease in his funny voice. 

____________________

After breakfast Abby grabbed one of her many notebooks and dashed outside. She climbed up her favorite tree and fondly looked around her. The mossy yard was full of trees, a trampoline, a kitty pool, and several other toys. The paint was still peeling on the deck and the house was far from a mansion but it was cozy and it was home. What Abby loved most about her home city, Harborcreek, was that no matter which way she looked, if she strained her eyes far enough, they would eventually fall on woods. She didn’t have to strain her eyes much to the left, for there was her own little wood that stepped into the yard. 

Dressing up my dolls,

Dancing along to Disney theme songs,

And making my friends laugh. 

I'm a bit dramatic.

(Maybe more than a bit)

I can be serious when I want to,

I like some "boring" things, 

And I'm really good at school,

But it all just adds to the vibrant mesh of me,

Who I've always been

And who I'll always be. 

There's just one thing.

I'm 14 years old,

Something I never thought would happen. 

I used to say I'd never be a teenager.

Well, here I am. 

I'd say I'd never change,

But now I'm not so sure.

"I'll always like My Little Pony." 

"No you won't."

"I'll never like a boy band."

"Yes you will." 

They were right. 

I don't know what happened to my pony figures

But they're gone 

And I don't care like I want to. 

I can't believe it

But I'm a fan of BTS. 

I can't help but love their personality,

Their message,

Their music.

Is it wrong to love good music? 

Am I still me if I don't watch kid shows anymore? 

It all sounds so stupid,

But if that can change so fast,

What else will I gain and lose?

I'm a teenager.

How long before I dress like one? 

How long before my dolls go untouched? 

When will I start to hide myself in makeup? 

When will violent video games rot my mind? 

I don't want to grow up.

They make it sound all great on TV,

But it's a trap.

"Life goes on.”

Yes, it's great to learn and grow, 

To let the bad times pass, 

But what's the price? 

Am I losing myself? 

Am I leaving me behind?

When do we outgrow our personality?

How do I stop myself from doing it?

What if we grow too far? 

What if we forget who we are?

I've never been able to go with the flow, 

But I don't think I'll try or try not to grow. 

I think I'll just let the real me show, 

Whoever I am, wherever I go.

Maybe I'll just live for life

And like whatever I like.

Does growth have to mean change? 

I could just be expanding.

The present is forming around the past;

It's like the rings of a tree

Coming in fast.

The first is still in there,

Close to the core.

Maybe it's just hiding

To make room for more.

Maybe if I let it happen

And don't go to extreme or extreme,

It'll happen gracefully.

And that tree 

Will still be me.

I don't understand it all,

But here's what I know:

Right now I have a fuzzy sweater on, 

Right now the world outside is beautiful,

Right now I like my dolls,

Right now I'm jamming to a boy band, 

Right now there's a smile on my face,

Right now everything is ok,

And right now is a day I want to save.

No matter what the future brings, 

No matter how I grow,

This is now 

And I'll always have the memories. 

If I ever decide

To wear ripped jeans and crop tops, 

I hope I'll smile in the mirror 

And remember.

I'm still the same little girl

On the inside.

The silken water ripples softly.

Let loving peace wash over me.

Oh, how great to have a friend! 

Our whispered giggles have no end.

Of my innocent MG books. 

And just a bit too scared

For the daunting YA ones.

Too big for my old, simple bike,

 Too short for my 10-speed.

Young enough still to love my dolls,

Old enough to be embarrassed about it. 

I can enter the contests for teens, 

But their writing all stands over mine. 

I'm eye level with their elbows, 

And their shoulders lock together,

Blocking out the sky for me. 

The days of those clean stanzas 

With ever-perfect rhyme, 

They are all gone.

My words are scrambled, 

But falling back together 

In a lovely loose verse. 

I will be a butterfly 

And spread my colorful wings

With an intensified joy, 

With more freedom than ever

To be me.

What happened to me? 

What about dolls and poofy skirts?

How long before they go too? 

What about crop tops and violent movies? 

How long before I'm into that? 

Has it already started?

"Life goes on,” 

But what if I don't want it to?

What if I could just flip back a page

And be a little girl again? 

Who is she? 

Where is she? 

Just when I start to understand

Life gets crazy once again.

What if life didn't go on?

What if I could just hit pause?

Bad times pass,

Sure, that's great, 

But what about the good times?

I want to stay forever

In my little world of ponies,

But I can't.

Life goes on.

Bad times pass.

Good times stick around.

I'll always have the memories.

They go on and on with life

As I make more every day.

It was never about the ponies,

And liking good music was never a sin.

It's about being me.

I'm not defined by dolls or skirts.

If I ever like shorter shirts or video games, 

I'll still be me.

Nothing important can really change.

Life goes on. 

I grow.

But I still have the same smile. 

I always will. 

The only thing that's changed? 

I've learned to try new things.

With sparkling pink magic 

And the same live cartoon faces

Playing numerous characters. 

It’s only for her 

I have to remind myself.

Then I glance down

At my bubblegum pink nails. 

They are chipped, 

Though I just painted them.

I see my dress 

With the unicorn,

The sequins, and

The pink tulle skirt; 

The dress that makes my older sister

Roll her eyes, 

Create an expression

Of disgust and surprise,

And beg me to change. 

I will not change. 

I admit it. 

I don't want to grow up.

I’m a child at heart.

We all know I still play

With my dolls, 

Unashamedly fixing their hair 

With oh so much care 

And picking out the very cutest

Of their old-fashioned dresses. 

I don't have to fully grow up.

I can still be 

A child at heart. 

We all know I'm mature

In the ways that count,

So what does it matter?

Do dolls do me harm?

They won't get in the way of life,

I promise,

So please

Just let me be

That child

At heart.

But no, she doesn't want to play. 

She hasn't had her phone all day. 

And now it's all she wants to do, 

Abandoning everything, including me, too. 

It's always like that and it's alright 

For her to text all day and night. 

But today is different, 

Today she did some things with me 

And now I see an opportunity.

We have started and I don't want to stop.

I want to end the day perfectly like a cherry on top.

adventure we are on.

We are headed for Proxima Centauri b, a cold planet that orbits the red dwarf star Proxima Centauri, which is part of the binary star system called Alpha Centauri. We are traveling 36,319 mi./hr. (which is 21.3% the speed of light) to this system which is closest to ours at just 25 trillion miles away. The trip should take 20 years if all goes well.”

Ridley stops reading in frustration.

Cindy walks into Ridley’s small bedroom after getting no response to her knock on the door.

“What’s wrong, sis?” she asks after seeing the confusing mix of emotions on Ridley’s face.

They aren’t really related, but neither has any real siblings. Ridley is sure she couldn’t ask for a cooler, smarter big sister than Cindy. Cindy needs someone to talk to (none of the 50 passengers on the Stardust are her age) and Ridley understands her more than anybody else. You could say these girls have their own type of symbiosis.

When Ridley just gives a shrug, Cindy comes over and sits down next to her on the bed.

“Did you know there are more stars in space than grains of sand on the Earth?” Cindy asks, gazing out the window at the stars that look like only white streaks because of the crazy speed. “We get to see so many more of them than most people, and think how much more there is to explore on the new planet! Don’t you see how lucky we are?” she exclaims, trying to get emotion out of her almost sister.

“But it’s all so new! I’m not ready? All that book will tell me is facts I already know about that stupid planet!” Ridley cries angrily.

“Hey, this is going to be new for me, too. I was born two years after the Stardust took off. We’re ready, and I have an idea to prove it,” Cindy says.

“Really? What is it?” Ridley asks, perking up. Cindy’s ideas are always fun.

“Before I tell you, I need your help with a hydraulic arm I’m planning on building,” Cindy says.

“Fine, but I’m bad at science,” Ridley warns.

“We’ll see about that.”

“There is no way I can be of any help building that!” Ridley panics when she sees the complicated looking instructions.

“Don’t worry, this is only a practice model. We need to be sure we can rely on hydraulics for heavy lifting since the fortress we have to let us survive for more than 15 seconds out there may cause our electricity to act up. Don’t worry about the instructions; they look confusing, new, and scary at first but once you dive in and take it step by step it’s really fun,” Cindy says.

“OK,” Ridley says, taking a deep breath. “Let’s do it.”

“First we need a square base about eight by eight inches. We can use cardboard for that,” Cindy directs. Ridley neatly cuts the piece out of a large, thick rectangle.

“Now we need something that rotates to attach the arm to,” Cindy says. A four by four square of cardboard and a brad easily solve that problem. Next they cut out four rectangles that are six by two inches. They hot glue two of them across from each other an inch from the edges of the smaller of the two squares.

“Now what?” Ridley asks, excited.

“Well, these are some other pieces of the arm. We need to attach them in a way that lets it bend,” Cindy says. She holds up the two pieces identical to those already attached.

“We can use more brads for the joint!” Ridley suggests. The instructions aren’t needed now. After that part is attached, they need two eight by two inch rectangles to complete the arm. They attach them the same way, but an inch towards the middle. Now the arm part is complete. Time for the claw.

Taking a cardboard triangle, Cindy explains the claw to Ridley. “Now cut two small rectangles and set them aside. Little bigger, perfect! OK, now you have to cut out an obtuse angle that is one inch wide.” Cindy performs this part as she explains it so now they have two of the angle. Next they face the angles toward each other and glue a rectangle to the bottom of each one. These pieces then have a brad put through both of them and are attached with it to the original triangle, still facing each other. Taking two relatively long pieces of metal wire, Cindy pokes one through the edge of each rectangle and twists it so that it will stay. Ridley does the grips by herself under Cindy’s approving gaze. First she wraps a one by two inch cardboard rectangle over each end and, after securing them with brads, adds strips of hot glue so it will hang onto things better. When they glue the completed hand on, they add counterweights to the back of the base to keep it stable. Now it’s time for the real hydraulics.

After filling four syringes with differently colored water, they attach a tube to each syringe and attach another syringe to the opposite end. Once this is done, all they have to do is position the empty syringes so once the ends push out, each one pushes on a different movable part and attach them with glue or zip ties.

Finally it’s time for the test run. Holding her breath, Ridley pushes the red syringe to squeeze the water out, into the tube, and into the other syringe. The end pops out of the filling syringe, pushes on the base it’s attached to, and causes the whole thing to spin. “It worked! It worked!” Ridley cries.

“Not bad for your first try engineering!” Cindy says, high-fiving her almost sister.

“That was actually fun!” Ridley exclaims.

“Interesting,” Cindy says with a half smile.

“What?”

“Have you ever done this before?”

“You know I haven’t.”

“Interesting.”

“OK?”

“So would you call this an old experience?”

Ridley laughs, she knows exactly what’s going on now. “No,” she says, “It would be called a new experience.”

“New and fun, now that is interesting.”

“You were right, I guess new can be fun!” Ridley realizes. “I can hardly wait to try out this new planet!” she cries. Cindy smiles, mission accomplished.

try to find her.

Then she went to the mall. She checked all Ariona's favorite stores but didn't find her. It was one o'clock and Marieta decided to go to the food court for lunch. When she was just sitting down to eat Marieta heard a yell.

“Hey, give that back!" Marieta stood and saw a dark haired girl running out of the jewelry store with the clerk chasing her. Marieta hid behind a plant to get a better look while they ran by. She jumped out suddenly. "Ariona!" she gasped. 

"Mary,” Ariona said.

In the end Ariona explained that she stole a necklace because she didn't have enough money to buy her mom a birthday present. They hardly had enough money to pay for their house. Marietta couldn't stay mad even though stealing was wrong. She hugged her and gave her all her allowance. Ariona never stole ever again.

"We leave next week so you should get to packing," Grace said.

"Great," Emily said. The tone in her voice said she did not think it was too great. 

"Party pooper,” Rachle mocked. 

“See you in the woods," Grace called as she left without her shoes. 

"Um, Grace," Emily reminded her. 

"Oh, right," Grace put her shoes on and left.

1 Week Later

“Emily was supposed to be here 2 hours ago, where could she be?" Grace asked. 

"You know her,” Rachle said, "She probably couldn't decide which shoes to bring.” Just then the doorbell rang and Emily hobbled in lugging 7 suitcases.

"Oo!" what's in there?" Grace asked, opening one and rummaging through the fancy clothes. 

"Why do you need so many clothes?" Rachel asked. 

“Never know when you slobs might stain it," Emily said. 

“Never,” Grace said, setting down a pair of now stained capris. 

“What's in the rest of the suitcases?" Rachle wanted to know.

"That one has more clothes, the rest have parts of my bed, hair products, makeup, and electronics,” Emily told them. 

“Wow!” Grace said. 

"A bed? for camping?" Rachle was bewildered.

“What am I supposed to sleep on? The ground?" Emily asked. Grace rolled her eyes. 

"Ok let's go," Rachle said, walking out the door. 

5 hours later

"Rachle, do you know where we are going?" Grace asked. 

"Absolutely, the campsite,” Rachle said. 

“She has no idea how to get there," Grace whispered to Emily.

“Tell me I don't have to stress about this, I can not get a pimple,” Emily said. 

"Oh forget about your face,” Rachle said. "We’re lost."

10 minutes later

"Rachle, did it ever occur to you that wandering around here is just getting us more lost?” Grace asked. 

"We've passed that same tree at least 6 times," Emily said boredly. 

“There are other trees," Rachle said, "But you're probably right, let's set up camp here." Rachle and Grace set up the tent. 

5 minutes later

"That's it?" Emily asked, looking at the small tent that was just big enough for three sleeping bags. "How will my bed fit in there?" she asked. 

"It won't," Rachle said. 

"I guess I'll just have to sleep outside,” Emily said, looking at the sky to see if it would rain. 

“Ooo!” Grace got in the big fluffy bed. 

"Aaa! get out of my bed!” Emily screamed. 

Grace got out and revealed that she had left a big dirty smudge on the neat white sheets. 

"Never mind you can have it." Grace shrugged and flopped down. Emily growled. Rachle laughed.

“Well now your choices are cold ground or Grace's sleeping bag.” Emily would rather sleep on a bed of nails than in Grace's sleeping bag.

“Cold hard ground it is,” she said.

9 hours later 

Grace’s hand fell to the ground and she woke up with a start. The ground was was covered

in snow. The bed was covered in snow, but the only cold parts of Grace's body were her face and her hand. The blankets were very thick. She wanted to get out of bed and surprise Rachle and Emily with a pre-breakfast snowball fight but when Grace tried to push the covers away they wouldn't move. They were tucked in too tight and the top two layers were frozen solid. You would think that Grace could just fall back asleep but she was on the basketball team and had to get up at 5:30am every morning. Thankfully, Rachle was also an early bird, getting up at 6:30am to watch the sunrise. "How did YOU wake up so early?" Rachle asked, coming from behind the tent. 

“I will have you know that I get up at 5:30 every single morning, basketball or not," Grace sounded offended. 

“It's 7:00, why are you still in bed?" Rachle asked. "This bed is really comfy so I slept late... and I'm a little stuck," Grace said. Rachle rolled her eyes and tried to untuck the covers. They were too frozen to untuck. 

“How did it get like this anyway?" Rachle asked, “You never tuck your covers in." That was the first time Grace ever thought of how it happened. 

"I don't know,” she said. Rachle tried again to untuck the covers but they would not come. 

“I can't get you out," she said. 

Grace screamed, "I have to go to the bathroom and it's so hot under here that I feel like I sweated off at least 6 pounds.” Emily slowly stepped out of the tent, groggily rubbing her eyes. 

"What's all that noise? I'm trying to sleep,” she asked. 

"Long story," Rachle said. 

"Somehow my sheets and blankets got tucked in and frozen down,” Grace told her. 

"I can't get her out,” Rachle added. 

"Oh, I, uh, wonder how that happened,” Emily said as she backed into the tent. 

"What do you know?" Rachle asked Emily, who was acting awfully suspicious. 

"I tucked the sheets in during the night because I was mad at her for stealing my bed,” Emily burst. 

“Seriously?" Grace said. 

"Well I didn't know it would snow!" Emily yelled. 

"Well you knew I hate my covers tucked in!” Grace shot back. 

“I’ve told you a thousand times not to touch my stuff!" Emily screamed. Rachle was, as usual, the peacemaker. 

"Calm down, Grace shouldn't have stolen the bed and Emily shouldn't have tucked her in. Can you get over it?” Rachle said.

"Alright, alright, alright," Grace said. 

“Fine,” said Emily. 

"So any ideas on how to get me out?" Grace asked. Rachle looked around the campsite. 

“I guess we could start a fire and use it to melt the ice,” she said. 

"I'm already sweating to death now, do you want me to burn to death?” Grace would not have it.

"Or we could use my heating pad and not kill our friend,” Emily said. 

"You have a heating pad?" Rachle asked. 

"I happen to have very sensitive feet," Emily stated. 

"Who cares!" Grace yelled.

"Well we need electricity, "Rachle pointed out. Emily thought about that. “If we had a battery that might work." 

Grace had a solution, "I have a battery powered video game,” she said. "It might work if we could wire it right."

Rachle said that she knew a little wiring from Save the Earth Camp. So they wired it up and Grace was free and she learned not to touch Emily's stuff. Emily learned to control her vengeance and Rachel learned that her best friends were total wackadoos. They managed to enjoy the rest of their trip and stayed best friends forever and ever.