Camp Conflict
My name is Jake. I have brown hair and green eyes, and I’m eleven years old, but most importantly, I’ve always wanted to go to summer camp. Every year I beg my parents to let...
Issue: <span>November/December 2012</span>
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My name is Jake. I have brown hair and green eyes, and I’m eleven years old, but most importantly, I’ve always wanted to go to summer camp. Every year I beg my parents to let me go, but they always insist that it’s too expensive. It was the end of the year and I was about to confront my parents about summer camp, when they walked into my room with huge smiles glued to their faces.
My Life with the Lincolns, by Gayle Brandeis;
Henry Holt and Company: New York,
2010; $16.99
Wilhelmina Edelman has three goals for the summer: to get through age twelve without dying, to keep her mom from becoming insane and going to a “nuthouse,” and to stop her dad from getting shot. As you might know, normal twelve-year-olds don’t usually have these types of summer goals.
I look at him
My dog
Head on tiny white paws,
Breathing heavily.
He looks back at me
His eyes sad
As if to say, “Come to me,”
So I do.
Then I
Stroke his head quietly
And he closes his eyes,
His breathing deep
Raspy
And tired.
He is small, sick, and old
But right now he is with me.
So I give him a kiss
And let him snore.
It was finally spring in the woods of Montana. The bitter coldness had ended at last, and not only was the temperature warmer, but also the hearts of those who lived there. Bozeman, a chocolate-brown horse, was about to have a baby. Her life as a rodeo horse was over, for she had retired months ago.
One day, her beautiful foal arrived. Here’s how the day went… “Mama, Mama, is Bozeman OK?
Under the gray sky
In a dreary meadow,
One with the trees and fallen leaves.
A raven flies overhead
And the cold north winds
Start to creep in.
But in between two oaks is where they lie.
Once flourishing and lush, just like this meadow.
Shriveled up, facing down
With a pile of petals
Upon the ground.
I heard a loud bang! Followed by a “No, darn it!” I rolled my eyes, knowing Max was in the kitchen again. Clumsy, fumbling, so not-a-chef-and-never-will-be, Max. I peeked around the corner of the door frame, only to see him and his cat, Rufus, covered in flour. Rufus was not happy and bounded away, shaking flour on the floor. Gabby, Mati, and Arian stood nearby.
Tuesdays at the Castle, by Jessica Day George;
Bloomsbury Books for Young Readers:
New York, 2011; $16.99
Jessica Day George’s Tuesdays at the Castle is a wonderful, heart-pounding story about a young girl who needs to protect her home, the Castle Glower. When an evil man named Khelsh tries to take over the castle, it is up to Celie to stop him.
It was a drizzly, rainy day. There were hardly any people walking on the street. My sister was in her room, singing a pre-school song. My mom huddled in her bed, reading a book. My cat Baboo was, of course, sleeping. My dad was on the couch, doing something with his iPad. And I was on the dining room chair, feeling bored.
I wondered where my other fat cat Mango was. I looked everywhere.
She left before the sun came up.
I didn’t have a chance to say goodbye.
Goodnight;
I love you.
The last words spoken between us
The suitcase had been packed that night.
Button-up shirts,
Silky and soft.
A warm embrace;
The smell of roses.
I’ll be back before Sunday, she had said.
It was a Friday morning.
A small road trip,
A six-hour drive,
A harmless once-in-a-life opportunity.
There’s a funny thing about love. Love can twist you and tie you in a knot. Love can make your heart burst and your eyes fill with tears, and love can make you so jubilant even when there’s a tornado outside. Love can bring you together and tear you apart. Love did all of these to me when my dog Breeze came along. I loved Breeze. He was my dog and we were inseparable.