It was a bright and sunny day, and Gooby was racing down the hot pavement. It had only been one year since humans had accepted aliens into Earth’s society. The planet that Gooby was from was taken over by another species, so they had no choice but to retreat and come to Earth and ask humans for help. It had been a hard six months, and Gooby was still getting used to going to a human school.
As I recall, it was early in the morning, around seven or eight, when I first arrived at summer camp. The beautiful summer breeze whisked through my nose, giving me a vague sense of freedom. How I had longed to leave school and have this feeling tingle my senses. This had marked my third year at summer camp, and I was ecstatic to meet my friends again.
I walked across the new green grass leading to the main campus.
What a little angel she is
Whisper the Jewish Sunday-school ladies behind gloved hands
As I flounce down the hall
All dressed up in my blue silk party dress, the one with the frills on the bottom
Another gift from Daddy’s friends in Chicago
A special dress for a special girl like you
My proud parents beam with pride when I stand behind the microphone in the school auditorium:
Oh, say can you see . . .?
Ben rolled his eyes as he wiped the sweat off his forehead. His robe was too hot, and the sheet he was forced to wear on his head was too tight. As you can probably guess, Ben was in the Christmas play for his Sunday school. As a sixth-grader, he had been in it for the past seven years, and was absolutely sick of it! He was so ready to be in the youth group next year.
"Shepherds, you are in the wrong spot—again," the distant voice of the play director droned. "Ben! Get with them.
“Go back to Asia!”
He says and sneers and snarls.
He lacks imagination.
He is so predictable.
Sometimes he spreads his pain and says,
“Go back to Egypt!”
“Go back to Mexico!”
“Go back to Africa!”
He must be a travel agent
Waiting to book a flight.
Maybe he’s right.
Maybe we should all go back
And thank the Native Americans
For their hospitality,
For their generosity.
But where would we go
When our home is here?
I was born here and raised here
Just like you.
The first day of seventh grade our teacher, Mrs. Mahoney, took attendance. Each name was called and answered. None of them were new. We had all known each other since at least fourth grade. My name, always the last to be called, finally came.
“Whitby, Sam.”
I responded, “Here!”
But unusually, she didn’t stop there. One more name was called. “Zachary, Sophie.”
There was silence, punctuated only by the occasional whisper or giggle. Mrs.
PROLOGUE
I am a guardian angel. I am retelling one of my missions to earth long ago. It was my first mission; I was proud of my abilities. And to go to a foreign country made me excited.
* * *
The radiant noon sun shone brightly as the cool breeze ruffled the palm branches near the Mekong in Cambodia. It flowed from China and went past several countries and ended in the South China Sea near Vietnam.
In his book Meaning, Galer wrote, “God created the human race as an experiment; He wanted to see if life was capable of creating for Him. Ultimately, He wanted us to produce beauty.” I felt that I had failed Him. I had been practicing from a young age, yet my music remained mostly devoid of beauty. And despite that fact, I continued to practice.
“It’s for my family,” I would always tell myself when I listened to myself play.
The bell rang, and a flood of students poured out of Madison Middle School. Kids laughed and chattered excitedly to each other, racing down the street toward their homes. Hannah Bauer was the only one not engaging in the mad rush for home. Instead, the thirteen-year-old walked slowly, the wind teasing her long, strawberry-blond hair.
It had been one of those days where nothing went right.
Tom Green is very spoiled and lazy—until an accident forces him to change his life
Tom Green was very proud to say that he had the best life any human could wish for. He would wake up in his cushiony white bed and then head down his marble staircase, where a delicious breakfast was waiting for him, prepared earlier that morning by his personal chef. If he were to have something involving chocolate, the chocolate would be from Switzerland, where, he believed, the best chocolate came from.
