A Journal of Art & Writing by the Students of Willett Elementary School March 2008, Volume 3, Issue 1

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Editor’s Note

Welcome to the March 2008 issue of Warped Willow. You’ll find some wonderful, funny, inventive pieces here, all written and illustrated by Willett students. If you like what you see here and want to get involved, think about joining Pub Club. The only requirements are that you be in 4th, 5th, or 6th grade and enjoy reading and writing. Look at our website for more details on meetings and how to sign up: http://www2.dcn.org/orgs/willettpubclub. Thanks to the following people for making Pub Club and our publications possible: the PTA and its members for funding our printing costs and supplies; Mr. Reevesman and his students for the use of their classroom every week; the many Pub Club parents who provide snacks for meetings; and Vanessa Soriano at the District Publications Office. We couldn’t do it without you!

—Naomi Williams, Pub Club Coordinator

illustration by Tara Bertsch, Grade 6 Illustration credits: 1. Warped Willow logo, front cover, Jacqueline Liu, Grade 6 2. Cover illustration by Anysia Lee, Grade 4 3. Back cover by Kasey Carlson, Grade 4

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The following poems were inspired by reading Judith Viorst’s poem “If I Were in Charge of the World.” If you want to see Ms. Viorst’s poem, look for her book If I Were in Charge of the World and Other Worries: Poems for Children and their Parents (Aladdin, 1984), which is in our school library. If I Were in Charge of the World by Anonymous, Grade 5 If I were in charge of the world, everything I didn’t like would be against the rules. Including vegetables and pollution, math and wildlife destruction. cruelty to animals, vegetable pizza, evil and hate, and horrible sisters. Your siblings would think you were royalty, and obey your every command, if you were dumb you could think logically, unless I didn’t like you. Everything would go as I wanted it, if I told you to do something, you wouldn’t argue like if I asked for a drink to quench my thirst or maybe a clean tissue. Why can’t I be in charge of the world? If only…fat chance. illustration by Sehyun Hwang, Grade 4

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If I Were in Charge of the World by Sehyun Hwang, Grade 4 If I were in charge of the world, there would be no wars, more animals, and no hunting. If I were in charge of the world, everyone would be happy in every single way. There would be more kindness in the world, more ways to communicate, and more. If only I were in charge of the world.

If I Were in Charge of the World by Anysia Lee, Grade 4 If I were in charge of the world your mom wouldn’t make you brush your dad wouldn’t make you go to school and wands and magic would be real your mom would say “eat your sweets” and your dad would say “stay up late” but these things don’t happen because I’m not in charge of the world.

These poems don’t necessarily aspire to world domination, but are still about dreaming in general or about wishing things were different than they are. Dreams by Shreya Sudarshana, Grade 4

First to dream, Then to do,

That’s how to make a Dream come

True.

zzz…

I Wish by Anonymous, Grade 3 I wish I was a dog, With shaggy fur and floppy ears, I would give anything to be a dog, but alas, but alas, I am no dog.

Too Bad by Anonymous, Grade 3 I am a horse, I run so fast— Just like a bolt of Lighting. Too bad my master is a farmer so I am set to work. I Want to… by Sehyun Hwang, Grade 4 I want to be, merrily going to and fro. I want to be a butterfly so I can flutter away. I want to be a balloon slowly floating away. I want to be a ship sailing away. I’m saying this because I want to go out and play.

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The Magical Sticker by Sehyun Hwang, Grade 4 I bought this magical sticker at this rental store. I bought it because it begged me with its words. I’m telling the truth. It talked! Then it told me to let it go. So I did. But as soon as I let it go, it ran. But after a while, it stopped. Then it rose up, up, up and away and was never, ever seen again. Under the Sea by Meg Robinson, Grade 4 From out of the world to under the sea, To the marvelous world you would never see, Things happen all of the time, Through the cave lies the great seaweed vine, No one knows what will happen next, Don’t worry, you’re safe from your text. Marvelous things happen here, Fantastic things are very near. Dreams by Anthony DiCarlo, Grade 4 Sometimes silly sometimes true, we all have dreams, you do too. Sometimes mean and sometimes scary, but they’re not all bad, some are merry. If you have a dream that’s fun, share your dream with everyone. I hope we meet again some day, dream some dreams in every way.

illustration by Noah Papagni, Grade 5

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The next two stories were written last spring after a Pub Club discussion about fairy tales and fairy tale retellings. “Wicked” stepmothers are finally getting a fair shake! The True Story of Snow White by Hirra Akhtar, Grade 5 My name is Grumpy, and I am here to tell you the true story of Snow White. Everyone thinks that her mother died and the evil stepmother stepped in, but that is not the case. Her mother never died, and she never had to flee for her life. In fact, what happened was the exact opposite of what you think. Snow White, with her hair as black as coal, her face as white as snow, and her lips as red as cherries, was evil. She was a witch in disguise, to be specific. She acted sweet and loving to gain everyone’s trust and then betray them. She made her mother flee for her life and never come back, and she was going to make her father flee when he married again. She wanted to be queen and use the power and high position to take over the kingdom. She was furious that she would have to start all over, but she managed to restrain herself enough to maintain her sweet composure. She was devising a plan to get rid of her new mother, who was atually the real sweet, nice one, when her father found out about her evil deeds. He ordered a huntsman to kill her, never telling him why. The huntsman, however, was charmed by Snow White, as she had not yet betrayed him, and allowed her a chance to flee. She left and found the dwarves’ house. She went in and tidied up as an act, to introduce herself as sweet and kind. She would betray them when she had their full trust. When the dwarves came home and she met them, she already had a plan forming in her mind. But at the end of the day she was exhausted from planning and did not finish her plan.

Now, Snow White had never loved. She did not know how because she was too evil. As the days went by, however, she began to feel an odd sensation. She did not know what it was at first, but she came to learn about love. The dwarves were so kind to her that now she had a special bond with them called love. All evilness then vanished from her forever. So, with the dwarves she lived happily ever after. (Turns out there was no prince.) (Or apple.) So now that I have told this tale, you know the truth and not the silly tales. The Story Behind the Story by Camila Ortiz, Grade 5 Rumors are frustrating. They tend to spell out that someone’s evil and someone isn’t. “Fairy tales” are sugar-coated versions of rumors. That is what happened to me. Snow White says, “The witch is evil!” I say, “The witch is me.” I was nice. I was kind. I supported her, and I even told her she would live happily ever after. And the woodsman thing, that was an accident!!! I told the woodsman to go find a place where the snow was white, since I couldn’t make snow people with yellow snow. Killing Snow White? Don’t ask me where the woodsman got that idea. The apple…well, what did you expect me to do once she told everyone how evil I was? Well, that was it. I walked out on that stupid old fairy tale. That’s behind me. That’s it. Bye.

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A page of poems by Anthony DiCarlo, Grade 4. Our very first writing exercise in Pub Club last fall was to look at the blank wall outside Mr. Reevesman’s classroom and write about what you saw. Anthony saw a lot more than a blank wall. Lonely Angels The plants climb up the white cream wall to heaven’s gate they go, The flower’s bloom is bright with light the angels help them grow, for they are lonely in the sky in the mansions of heaven above. So they water them with the rains and care for them with their love. These poems were written after we discussed Percy Bysshe Shelley’s classic poem “Ozymandias.” Of Kings and Crowns In winter’s clasp there lies a thing, covered in snow most white. It’s as it were some ancient King fallen from his might. On his head there lies a ring, a ring of silver light. The snow drifts down on pearly wings. I escape into the night. The Fortress The fortress looms dark at night, for daytime is not here. Creatures scurry round with fright, they quiver with their fear. For men are coming swiftly here, to seize the castle wall. The guards they shout, “the enemy’s near.” With voices loud they call.

illustration by Isaac Yandel, Grade 4

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Don’t know what an acrostic is? It’s a poem with an embedded riddle. First try to figure it out yourself. Give up? Look at the bottom of the page for the answer. An Acrostic by Hirra Akhtar, Grade 5 We could all agree on this, If only I could tell you, that is my wish. Lost are some things, others are gained, Late is old Robert, but his school remains. Exclaiming isn’t hard, it’s easy to do, To exclaim what I’m writing would be easy, if only you knew. Take this news right, as you should, Right here, this place, is great, not just good. Oh, so well loved, respected, and cared for, that it shall never fall, Can’t you see its doors, thrust open to welcome all? Kites or staying home would be better? No way! See here, listen to this last clue: Sight the first things except the last, and you shall see what this message says.

Answer: An acrostic is a poem in which the first letters of each line form a word or phrase of their own. In the case of Hirra’s poem, the words “Willett Rocks” are formed by reading the first letter of each line (except for the last line, which she hints you shouldn’t include). illustration by Janhavi Gadam, Grade 5

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A Very Shattered Christmas by Camila Ortiz, Grade 5 It looked like a picture out of Martha Stewart Living, which, being our dining room, was about the biggest Christmas miracle we were going to get. Several plates, alternating in red and green, were set upon a white linen table cloth. Sprigs of holly were placed carefully on the napkins along with handwritten place cards done in calligraphy. In the center was a large, ornately carved glass angel, a little cheesy, in my opinion, but beautiful all the same. “It looks great, Mom!” I exclaimed. She beamed at me. “Thanks, Jean. Listen, I need to go do a little last-minute shopping for this evening. I’ll probably only be about 45 minutes, but would you watch Mark for me?” Mom asked. I sighed heavily. “Sure, mom.” Mark was a handful. He was three years old, curious, and destructive. “Thanks—make sure he doesn’t break anything, okay?” she said anxiously. After making sure that her dinner would be safe and sound, she bid me good-bye and left. I sent Mark to play in his room then settled down to read Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix for about the millionth time. I could hear Mark begin to belt out “Jingle Bells” three rooms away. After a while, I put my book down, jolted out of my Harry Potter trance. It was a couple of seconds before I realized our house had been submerged into complete, eerie silence. For a minute I thought I must have gone deaf or something, since the only time Mark was ever quiet was in his sleep, and even then he might snore a bit if he had a cold. Something was very wrong.

This theory was proved a second later when there was a tinkling crash. I raced to the dining room and stepped in. Disaster met my eyes. The beautiful glass angel my mother had picked out so carefully was in five pieces at my feet. Only one arm, wing, and leg were still attached to its body, and even those were chipped and scratched. The other wing, arm, leg, and her head were strewn all over the floor. “MARK!!!” I roared. I found him in his room, smiling sheepishly at me. “Sorry?” he said. I dragged him into my parents’ room, where the T.V. was turned on to “Sesame Street,” and left the room. I took three deep breaths. “It’s not as bad as it seems,” I told myself. But who was I kidding? I began to tear apart the house in search of glue. After fifteen minutes my efforts were proving fruitless. Plan B: see-through tape. In five minutes I had found what I was looking for—sort of. Gray duct tape. I clumsily put the angel back together. She looked as if she were wearing a dark grey turtleneck on only half of her body. Time for Plan C: I didn’t have one. I looked everywhere for something—anything—that would put the angel back together. All I found was liquid white-out. I would have to try. I carefully painted it onto all the angel’s fractured parts and held it together, praying, for thirty long seconds. But the second I let go, it fell apart. I heard giggling from the hall, but there was no need to see who was standing there. “Ugh, shut your mouth, Mark!” I growled, livid.

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“That’s not nice,” he said sternly. I could’ve crushed a Christmas bauble into dust, but resisted the impulse. “If you don’t say sorry, I’ll tell Mom,” he persisted. I hurled a holly berry at him and it bounced off his perfect little nose. Just then, the slamming of a car door was heard from the driveway. I grabbed the angel and shoved it under the Christmas tree. All anger between us forgotten, we sprinted into my parents’ room and dropped, panting, onto the bed, where “Sesame Street” was still playing. “Hello!” my mother called. “Where are you guys?” “In your room!” I said. “Watching Big Bird!” Mark added. My mother walked in, looking exhausted. “Mark, help your big sister put away the groceries while I go put these wine bottles on the table,” she asked us. I sat up abruptly. “I have a better idea! You put away the groceries while I put the wine on the table.” My mother raised her eyebrows. “Are you trying to worm your way out of work, young lady?” “Yeah,” I lied. She looked surprised. “Well, then why don’t you just do both?” she proposed, waiting for the protests. “Okay,” I said, taking the wine from her and skipping off to the living room. The second I was out of her sight I grabbed a napkin and draped it over one of the wine

bottles, taking care to make it appear as much like an angel as a wine bottle possibly could. Before I could scurry into the kitchen, my mother appeared in the doorway. “Why in the world have you put one of our linen napkins over my angel?” she said suspiciously. I thought fast. “Uh… um… er…Don’t you know? It’s—er—bad luck to see your …centerpiece before a … a…” I faltered at the look on my mothers face. Boy, I needed to get better at lying. “Jean, I’m not stupid. Take the cloth off that angel right now,” she said grimly. I obeyed, and her eyes widened in surprise. “Where is my angel?” she cried. “Well… about that…” “Jean,” she warned. I pulled the pieces of the angel out from underneath the tree. My mother didn’t even yell. “Pass me those pieces.” She was trying, and failing, to keep her voice calm. It all happened in about a microsecond. As I walked forward to hand my mother her angel, I tripped over our dog, Ben. The pieces of the angel went flying through the air, and fell to the floor shattering into razor-sharp glass shards. I landed directly on top of them, and felt one sink deep into my arm. The buzz of our doorbell was added to the chaos of my mother screaming, Ben barking, Mark singing, and me crying. After my mother had regained her calm, she let the bewildered guests in, and after a brief explanation of recent events, dug the piece of glass out of my arm and put a bandage on it. She then swept up the rest of the glass and we sat down to dinner. Let me tell you, dinner where the centerpiece is smashed, the napkins

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bloodstained, and the food burnt was the most awkward experience I ever had. Three years later on Christmas Eve… The table rang with laughter as my uncle finished his story. “That was funny,” my mother said. “But no Christmas dinner beats the time when Jean smashed that expensive glass centerpiece.” Mark burst out laughing. “Jean broke something?” he said. I grinned. He didn’t even remember.

My mother was saying, “She was handing the broken pieces over to me when she tripped over Ben and the pieces broke. And then, she fell on top of them and got this piece of glass in her arm. Right then, the guests all came, and the dinner was a complete fiasco.” “What was I doing?” Mark asked, eager to find out his part in the story. “You sang ‘Jingle Bells’ the whole time,” I responded. There was more laughter. This year, everything was perfect. This year, there was no centerpiece.

Illustration by Noah Papagni, Grade 5

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In one Pub Club session, we talked about the poems etched by Chinese immigrants on the walls of the detention center at Angel Island in San Francisco Bay. Read about this fascinating bit of California literary and immigration history in Island: Poetry and History of Chinese Immigrants on Angel Island, 1910-1940, by Him Mark Lai, Genny Lim, and Judy Young (Univ. of Washington Press, 1999). The poems and story that follow were inspired by their story. Magic Fairy by Anysia Lee, Grade 4 Unfairly, I am in prison for no good reason. I want to return to the outside world. It doesn’t seem like anything here. The only thing to do is to write on the wall. Here’s what I wrote: I am stuck in a prison so unfairly, It is not how I want to be, But the people here do not judge fairly, Why I want to be a magic fairy.

Unfairly by Shreya Sudarshana, Grade 4 Unfairly am I trapped, HELP ME PLEASE! In this prison, lonely, miserable, in pain I feel so stupid. Shipwreck by Anonymous, Grade 5 It was the scariest thing that I had ever experienced. I was on a ship and a storm hit. The ship sank and I was washed up on a sandy desert island with a jungle behind the sand. All I had with me was a small pocket knife. All I could eat was coconuts from the palm trees and fish from the ocean, which I caught with a spear that I had whittled with my knife. I was starving so I took wood and shaped it in a gigantic “S.O.S!” and set it aflame so that it would be easier to see. All I could do now was wait, hope, and pray.

A collaborative illustration by Anthony DiCarlo & Meg Robinson, Grade 4, and Casey Powers & Tara Bertsch, Grade 6

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Kasey’s funny and inventive piece was inspired by Ogden Nash’s comical poem “Can I Get You a Glass of Water? or, Please Close the Glottis After You.” You can find it in the collection You Can’t Get There From Here (Little, Brown, 1984). Kasey really picked up on Nash’s knack for making up his own words.

Sick, or

Scoughing and Loughing and Sneezing and Wheezing by Kasey Carlson, Grade 5

illustrated by Casey Powers, Grade 6

Yes, I have gotten sick You just feel like a brick just sitting on a couch just lying like a pouch

Sneezing and wheezing moaning and groaning

scoughing and loughing just sitting in a stare

just sitting there in all dismare.

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The poems and illustration on this page are all by Sehyun Hwang, Grade 4. The Grand Canyon It’s purple and red in the night, and other colors in the other times of day. It’s high above, and low below. I’ve been there once and it caught my eye. Just to tell you… It’s the Grand Canyon! I’m Waiting I’m waiting for my mother to come and pick me up. I’m waiting for my computer to finally power up. I’m waiting for myself to finally go to sleep. The Air You’re right there around me, wherever I’m at. You rush to school with me and never leave me behind. I wait and wait for you to be gone, but you won’t go away. Anyway, if you weren’t there, how could I be?

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A Surprise Snack by Meg Robinson, Grade 4 illustrated by Casey Powers, Grade 6

One time at my aunt’s house, she was

serving snacks. There were crackers, cheese, bread, and a variety of other things. She had just brought out another snack. It looked very odd. It was brown and shaped like fish. I’m very adventurous with my food, so I decided to try it. I put it in my mouth and started to chew. Then it happened: BOOM! Flavor burst everywhere in my mouth. It tasted DISGUSTING. It tasted like dirt and fish mixed together. It was NOT a pleasant experience. Do you want to know what it was? They revealed it was CAT FOOD! My Friend Rockey by Irem Sogutlugil, Grade 3 I got bored. I didn’t know what to do. So, I just went outside. I found a rock. I named him Rockey. I went home and drew a face on it. Sometimes, I did magic and he watched me with my other toys. When I get bored I will always play with him.

illustration by Camila Ortiz, Grade 5

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A Cold, Hard Night by Amanda Gong, Grade 5 “Pumpkin!” screamed the infuriated Mr. Cadaro. Pumpkin was usually mischievous. She was a big-eyed, orange and white kitten who was new to the big, blue and green mansion. Pumpkin walked slowly around a corner and into the room Mr. Cadaro was in. The curtains were torn, all the vases and cups in the room were shattered on the floor. The old dusty chandelier was swinging wildly. “Oh, yeah,” thought Pumpkin, “I remember playing in this room before…” “Look what you did!” screamed Mr. Cadaro. “You have ruined everything! You could have shattered the crystal chandelier!!!” “Meow,” Pumpkin cried. “Now you’re pretending!” screamed Mr. Cadaro while rapidly turning a bright purple in the face. “That’s it!” screamed Mr. Cadaro. “You’re not living inside anymore! In fact, no more fish for dinner anymore. Only the greasy cat food from Co-op now!” Pumpkin winced in the sudden outburst of anger and unpleasant voices. “Fine!” thought Pumpkin angrily, “I will go! You won’t have to feed me at all! You can just be plain mean to me and kick me out! Go on! Be a big, fat meany!” Pumpkin was so infuriated that she was shaking while she was thinking wildly. She

pranced out with her tail and nose raised high. Soon she was out the door and looking around for somewhere to sleep, because it was getting dark and quite cold. Pumpkin was feeling a bit of remorse for prancing off from Mr. Cadaro like that. But she couldn’t go back, because that would be like saying she was wrong. Pumpkin was never going to say she was wrong! Spending the night outside was not Pumpkin’s favorite thing. It was absolutely freezing that night! “It always has to be the night I sleep outside!” thought Pumpkin angrily, even though she had never slept outside before. Pumpkin slept a short, restless sleep that night. She was absolutely grouchy the next morning. She was definitely going back home, whether it meant she was saying she was wrong or not! Pumpkin walked right up to the big blue and green mansion and meowed as loud as she could. But nobody even peeked through the windows! Was it possible that Mr. Cadaro had moved out over night? Then Mr. Cadaro peeked through the peep hole in the door. He couldn’t help rushing out, picking up Pumpkin, and taking her inside. Pumpkin was so happy that Mr. Cadaro took her in, especially because that was like saying he was wrong. Okay, maybe Pumpkin was also grateful that she didn’t have to stay outside for the rest of her life!

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A page of poems by Hirra Akhtar, Grade 5. The first three were written last year, when she was in 4th grade. A Unicorn’s Horn I once saw a unicorn, its horn brightly glowing. But before I could touch it, away it was going. But I still remember, that unicorn’s horn, spiraling up towards the sky, as sharp as a thorn. Untitled The sparkle in your bright, blue eyes, makes the smile on my face rise. As the moon shines its pearly glow, I stand beneath it so far below. Rainbow Rainbow, Rainbow, in the sky, you look so beautiful glowing up so high. Your brilliant colors entrance me, for after such rainy weather, the world no longer seems foggy, as your radiant colors flash.

It’s Your Birthday It’s your birthday, make a wish, it’s your birthday, eat some cake in a dish. Have fun today, ‘cause now you’re one year older, have fun today ‘cause it’s your birthday!

Fairy Wings I once thought I saw the glimmer of fairies’ wings. They made the air shimmer and flash, and I knew it was no flaw. They were shaped like butterfly wings, except they looked like they were made out of a rainbow, they sparkled with radiance and they gleamed, and I never again saw such beautiful things.

illustration by Clarissa Franke, Grade 5

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An excerpt from Our Universe , a novel-in-progress by Anthony H. DiCarlo, Grade 4

Book 1: The Light Chapter 1: The Landing It all began one night on Monday, December 6th 2004, when a flying saucer landed in Davis, California. The first person to see the ship was an artist named Richard Lowenberg. Not wanting anyone to worry, he made a plaque saying that it was a piece of art that he had made and put it on the spaceship. The spaceship was eventually forgotten by the artist and all memory of it being an actual flying saucer was forgotten. But seven years later, something strange happened: one of these spacecrafts landed outside of the capitol in Washington D.C.! It was exactly like the one in Davis, except it had landed flatly on the ground while the other seemed as if it had crashed. As the president and other figures of authority came to examine the spaceship, the top of the ship opened and a smallish figure, pale green from head to toe, came out. “Hello children. We are the Yunhula. We have come to assist you,” the alien said in a friendly but almost chilling tone. “There is no need of you to tell us who you are, Mr. Bush, we already know.” Five more of the aliens, or the Yunhula, as they called themselves, emerged from the spaceship. One went up to the Speaker of the House and handed her what seemed to be blueprints. “What are these?” said the speaker. “These are blueprints for a spaceship that will help your species,” said the alien who

seemed to be the commander. “We cannot give you the full extent of our knowledge, so as soon as we leave you must first make peace between all of your species, and then start building these ships. Although we are your friends, we cannot give you any more technology. You must advance in space travel very quickly if you are to survive. We will return in three years’ time.” At that, the aliens got into the spaceship and disappeared into space. Three years later... Phillipe looked out of the tram window upon the mighty city of New York. The city was full of action as taxis zoomed across the sky. He had come to visit his carefree and somewhat ditsy cousin, Karin. He was to meet her at the stadium to watch the baseball game. He thought of how much the world had changed since he had run carelessly through the woods playing tag with his cousin on his last visit. She was his only friend. He mused on many similar thoughts, but his train of thought was interrupted by the conductor’s voice. “Yankee Stadium! Everybody out!” Phillipe picked up his bag and exited the tram to find Karin waiting outside. “Phillipe!” Karin ran up and hugged him. Phillipe blushed slightly and replied: “Karin, it means a lot to me that you came to the game. I didn’t even know you liked baseball.”

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“Anything so that I could see you, and besides, I like the food that they sell, even if it is a bit overpriced,” she said. “We’d better hurry, or all of the good seats will be taken,” he continued. They entered the white room of the stadium and got some front row seats. It would be a good game. It was the Yankees versus the Red Sox. As Karin left to get snacks, Phillipe studied the field. It was scarred and burned by the rockets of the players from past games. The bleachers were separated from the field by a transparent wall so that the audience was not affected by the zero gravity. The game was to start at 3:00 P.M. “Karin had better get here soon or she’ll miss the national anthem,” Phillipe mused quietly to himself. Then, just as if she had heard him, Karin appeared. “Sorry I took a little while, but they have so many good things to choose from,” she said. It seemed to Phillipe that the gravity tray couldn’t support the weight of all the snacks. It was lagging behind and close to the ground. “I spent about a hundred dollars. Is that okay?” she continued. “Yeah, that’s a good deal, with all the inflation.” They divided the food as the opening bars of the national anthem floated through the air. Karin and Phillipe joined in the chorus. When the anthem ended, the game began. By the ninth inning, there were two outs and the score was 21 to 19 in the Yankees’ favor. The Red Sox’s best hitter was up and the bases were loaded.

Crack! It was a fly ball to center. Just then, something came crashing through the ceiling and landed on the field. It didn’t look like any spaceship they had ever seen. A voice seemed to sound from all around. “Will Karin and Phillipe Javer please come onto the field,” it said. “That’s us! Let’s go!” Karin pushed Phillipe out of his seat. A door opened in the wall and they ran through onto the field. The gravity seemed to have come back on again. The cousins walked up to the ship. The voice was heard again: “Please enter into the vehicle through the door.” A door opened in the spaceship and Phillipe followed Karin into the ship. Once they were inside, they saw someone who looked like a bald green man in a navy blue military uniform. He uttered a single word: “Welcome.” Chapter 2: Lalelo “I appreciate your help, but why them?” “Have you seen these children’s records?! Their grades are off the scale. Look at this article: ‘Boy of 12 Makes Warp Engine, Wins Science Contest.’ And the girl is equally fantastic. You’ll understand when you see them.” “Alright, but they had better not be harmed.”

*** “My name is Captain Lalelo. My assistant, Lieutenant Astola, will show you to your quarters,” the alien said. Another alien entered the room. “Follow me,” he said.

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They walked through many corridors and finally came to two small doors. “Karin, this is your room.” Lieutenant Astola pointed to the door on the left. “The other door leads to yours, Phillipe. You are to meet the captain in his quarters at six,” he continued. “You will find a tube about as tall as yourselves in your rooms. Step into them. When you are inside, press the numbers 1561 on the key pad.” Phillipe thought he could almost see a smile on the officer’s face. “Yes, Lieutenant,” they both answered. The sound of footsteps echoed down the hall. Phillipe turned to see what it was. He saw a small soldier who was definitely younger than Astola, and mumbling so loud they could hear him all the way down the corridor. “Those lousy humans, they make me lose my promotion and my job. I could have been a Sergeant and been in tactical, but no, I’m still a Corporal and an engineer for this lousy ship!” “Don’t mind Corporal Kijellium,” the lieutenant said as the soldier passed them. “He’s just a little frustrated that he wasn’t promoted. So, until we meet again.” Phillipe walked through the door. The room was not very big and had a bed in the left corner, a dresser in the corner to the right, and in the middle of the room, the tube that Astola had described. It was 4:49. Phillipe decided he would take a nap. He lay down on the soft bed, pulled the covers over his body and went to sleep. Phillipe woke up. He looked at the clock. It was 5:54! He jumped out of bed. His clothes were dusty and muddy. He couldn’t see the captain in this state. He rushed over to the dresser and stripped off his clothes. He opened the top drawer, found a red uniform,

and quickly put it on. Pulling on his shoes, he dashed into the tube. He punched in the number that the lieutenant had specified. Then he had the sensation that his body wasn’t there. Seconds later he found himself sitting at a long table in a large room, with Karin sitting beside him. At the end of the table sat Captain Lalelo, and to his right, a human he had never seen before. The captain spoke. “Phillipe, Karin, this is President Huckabee, the president of the United States of America. He has come to talk to you on a matter of great importance. Do either of you know where we are?” “I’d say flying somewhere over New York,” replied Karin. “No, we are nearing the space station over the moon of Earth,” said the President. “What?!” came the shocked reply from the cousins. “Admiral Tyupeka of the Yunhula Fleet has informed me that three weeks ago, a small alien scouting party was contacted in Yunhula territory. They called themselves the Zistles and seemed very friendly. They told us that they had been driven from their homes by a race of aliens called the Murhal, and are supposed to meet us at the space station,” said President Huckabee. “But why are we here?” asked Phillipe. “I have been monitoring you for the past seven years, and think you are ready for training,”said Captain Lalelo. “Training for what?” asked Karin. “There is a school at the station. It is called the United Training School for Humans and Yunhula, or the U.T.S.H.Y. I want to add

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the letter Z to the acronym for Zistles as well. We start monitoring human children at age seven, and if they seem ready we start the training at age 14,” said the President. “But neither Karin nor I know anything about fighting or space travel!” protested Phillipe. “That is what the training is for. Your brains are acute enough to cope with the intensity of training,” explained the captain. “All right, but why are we preparing for war?” asked Karin. “The Zistles think that the Murham are going to keep traveling in search of conquest. We know that they will eventually come here, and we want to be prepared,” answered

President Huckabee. Then the voice of Lieutenant Astola came through the speakers. “Captain, we are docking in the space station.” “We have to get going. Are you two with us or not?” Captain Lalelo asked. Phillipe pondered this question for a moment and came to a decision. Yes. If they were recruiting children to do this they must need them desperately. “If Karin’s coming I am too.” The words flowed from his mouth. Karin acknowledged him and said, “And I sure am coming!” …to be continued

illustration by Pandora Sutherland, Grade 4