Sunshine Notebook by Abigail Rater

Fridays Good and Black

“How come Good Friday is called Good Friday and Black Friday is called Black Friday? Shouldn’t they be switched?” I don’t remember who asked that in Sunday school, but it seemed like a good question to me. Good Friday is a solemn day, a day to commemorate Christ’s death, and black is usually the color of mourning, so that made sense. There didn’t seem to be much that was black about a bunch of sales.

The idea behind the name “Black Friday” is that storekeepers used to write profits in black and losses in red. All of the deals after Thanksgiving drove sales up, adding more black to the record books. This isn’t the actual origin of the name, but it’s the modern reasoning.

As for Good Friday, if you know the significance of Christ’s death on the cross, it really isn’t hard to understand why it’s called “good”. If He’d never died, our sins wouldn’t be forgiven, and we’d need to continue making animal sacrifices forever, or die in our sins. Death is tragic. It was also the greatest sacrifice Christ could’ve possibly made for us. Because of His death, we live and are saved, as long as we believe. I don’t know about you, but I’d call that pretty good!

“But he was pierced for our transgressions,

he was crushed for our iniquities;

the punishment that brought us peace was on him,

and by his wounds we are healed.”

Isaiah 53:5

As it turns out, the names aren’t the confusing part. What sometimes is a contradiction is how people treat Black Friday. Let’s back up for a moment to what precedes the big sales: Thanksgiving. This is an entire holiday dedicated to giving thanks and appreciating everything that we have. It’s a holiday of family, feasting, and general goodwill. How on earth do we go from this to elbowing others out of the way to get to the last discounted appliance? One day we’re celebrating everything we have, and the next we’re fighting others at Walmart to get more, more, more. In 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18, we read, “Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.” The thankfulness shouldn’t end on Friday, and it doesn’t have to. Even if you decide to go shopping, and even if there’s something you really want to find, it doesn’t have to be all-consuming.

There’s absolutely nothing wrong with buying something for yourself on Black Friday, or any other day, for that matter, but it’s important to remember what you have. Even if you don’t have as many physical possessions as you’d ideally want, or you weren’t able to have a nice dinner this year, or even if you don’t have anyone to celebrate with, you can still be thankful. Black Friday might tell you that you always need more, but Good Friday says that you already have all that you need. All you need to do is believe, and Jesus saves your life. This is all the motivation we need to be thankful every day; everything else is just an added blessing.

Shattered Glass

Most stories start when the main character’s life falls apart. Not this one. My life is great. It’s me who’s falling apart. Most main characters have a special spark. I’m a whole dumpster fire. This is the story of a girl who doesn't know anything about anything trying to do everything.

I feel pathetic, sitting on the garage floor and sobbing uncontrollably. I don’t know what’s happening. My dramatic mind keeps wondering if this is an anxiety attack or a mental breakdown. My rational side insists that it isn’t. But I’m scared. Like, really scared. My head is pounding, but it’s more pressure than an actual headache. The world is shaking.

My breath sounds like an ocean in my ears. There are about sixteen coded monologues crossing paths in my head. I can’t distinguish one from another, but they all have the same general tone. Why can't I handle simple things? Why am I freaking out like this over nothing? Do I always have to be so

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.

Thank You

Thank you

For the sun in the sky

Thank you

For the light in my mind

Thank you

For every day

Thank you

The only words I can pray

Thank you

For all of your love

Thank who

The only God above

That Feeling

Have you ever had the feeling

That your heart was made of air,

Buoyant as the clouds,

Beautiful and fair?

When all the good seems multiplied,

Your happiness is doubled.

When all bad feelings are left behind,

Were you ever really troubled?

I'm not sure about you, but I do.

I start to feel this way,

So peaceful and so pleased,

On a bright, vivid fall day.

When the orange trees reach and reach.

They try to touch the deep blue sky,

Which reflects the other's brightness

As the hours and days go by.

I'm reminded of my friends,

Our giggles as we play.

We laugh and laugh and laugh,

Or talk the time away!

I think that some of us are the sky,

And others make the trees.

We're made to glow brighter together

As we smile on with ease.

Wind rustles in the leaves,

I notice as each one gleams

That the sun is setting from behind.

The world is gold, it seems.

I see all of this beauty

As the leaves remember summer sun.

They put on quite a show

To keep up all the fun!

I remember this day last year

And all of the good ol’ times.

I'm excited for it all again

When there's nothing new to put in rhymes.

I always keep my eyes open.

There's always something new.

I love, love, love the past,

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

Everything is so exciting!

I can't bear to wait for tomorrow,

Though I never want today to end!

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

True, school can be quite dull.

Over math I feel my eyelids drop,

But I love to know I'm learning,

And sometimes I don't want to stop!

I like it best to have art before my eye

Or perhaps a book in my hand.

I get the strangest feeling,

You might not understand.

I feel the ideas stir inside of me.

I itch to grab the nearest pencil

And pour all the inspiration out.

My hands and mind just can’t sit still!

Season Flipped

Season flipped, now it's fall

Time to get ready for some fun, y'all

The leaves slowly change their hue

Just to warm the eyes of me and you

All the world is one bright fire

Dressed in a vivid orange attire

These leaves mean second chances

Fall, then wait for the avalanches

Winter passes, they return

The sharpest pine and the smallest fern

But for now we simply sit

To enjoy the peace of all of it

We smile at the glow inside

From the soft pumpkin spice you can't hide

Days of leaf piles and hay bales

And we can't forget the sweater sales

Smell the sharp, tangy bonfire

Joy and praise fly higher and higher

Through the great ocean above

Through every cloud, sculpted with love

Soon to reach the Lord of all

The very One who gave us this fall

The World is Aglow

Oh, how beautiful autumn is!

The air so clear,

So cool,

So clean.

My mind is far away.

My eyes are on the leaves,

So brilliantly yellow!

They seem to glow

In the intense light.

The sun is shining bright,

Unhindered by the clouds.

They are there,

So puffy and white,

Floating

Across the sky.

Ah, the sky!

So pure and blue,

So very big.

The scene is overwhelmingly peaceful.

The earth feels so huge!

God's wonders are endless.

From the chattering squirrel

Up that tree

To the neighbor's cat

Looking at me,

God made them all

So full

Of beauty.

When the Leaves Begin to Fall

Gone are the long days of summer fun,

Once, but certainly not for all.

Still shines the bright old and faithful sun

On this new season we call fall.

There is a crisp snap in the cold air.

The scented candles are now lit.

The squawk of birds is not at all rare,

When flying South they do not quit.

The loft is a special place right now.

It is nice and cute and cozy.

There are twinkle lights and somehow

They make cold seem warm and rosy.

Dropped acorns crunch beneath my feet

As I walk across the backyard.

Leaves of cardinal, pumpkin, and wheat

Could decorate a lovely card.

Endless the activities now are;

Feeling the thwang of our bowstrings,

Tromping through the woods as we go quite far,

Pretending pioneers and things.

Hot cocoa we drink from teacups fine.

Pumpkin muffins taste wonderful.

Patterned leggings you know are mine,

My drawer of them is bursting full.

Piles of leaves are scattered about

To be burned in cheery firelight,

Or put on the trampoline. Without

Hose's rain, the leaves are a delight.

Perfectionists' school takes a long time,

But when I am done, art and words,

Perhaps a nice sketch and a rhyme,

Are inspired by fall in herds.

Though fall may be different for another,

The leaves still show second chances,

Because they fall, they can start over.

God shows mercy, the Bible says.

Ally's New Friends

Monday: I am Ally and I am not ready for middle school. My problems all started today when I bumped into a girl named Jasmin who immediately decided to be my worst enemy. “Watch it green hair,” she said. I am not brave so instead of standing up to her I ran to the bathroom to look in the mirror. It was true, I swam in the lake so much my blond hair is tinted green. I didn't have time to wash it or do anything about it so I just put my hood up and hoped nobody else would notice. Another problem I have is my math teacher doesn't like kids. I need to fix my hair but what I really need is a friend.

Tuesday: Another bad day. I say a poster for a swim club. I was about to sign up but Jasmin and her friends came, shoved me against a locker and filled in the rest of the sheet. “It wasn't your kind of group anyway, Cabbage," she said. Now everyone calls me Cabbage.

Wednesday: You wouldn't believe what Jasmin did today. We had our first math test today and Jasmin said I was cheating on her. The grumpy math teacher sent us to the principal when I denied it. Guess what, he's grumpy too. Jasmin and I started arguing and we both got detention for today,

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

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

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

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

Gail Helps the Homeless

Gail Rowey skipped happily through the door of her new house. “How was the first day of your new school?” her Mom asked. They had lived in Waterford for over a month now but they moved in late June so Gail hadn't gone to her new school until today.

“It was great!" she answered, "I made friends with the principal's daughter Lucy and she talked to him about having a charity festival for the homeless and he agreed!” Gail squealed. "There's gonna be games and snacks and races and singing! Mom, I'm doing a solo!"

“That's great Gail,” her Mom said.

“I'm going to sew shirts and Lucy is going do graffiti on them,” she went on.

"Maybe I'll sell pies," her Mom said. Two weeks later, the day of the festival, Gail was jumping around backstage looking over the song she was going to sing.

“Abigail Rowey, singing a song she wrote called ‘I Look Around,’” the announcer announced. Gail took a deep breath, straightened her purple headband, and walked on stage. Gail looked out into the crowd, then for what seemed like hours she froze. Gail tried to remember her song but she couldn't, she

was so nervous she couldn’t even walk off the stage. She looked at the crowd again, then she saw Lucy holding up a sign that said “Help the Homeless” in bold letters. She had to sing to help the homeless. Gail took a deep breath, then the whole song came flowing out. Before she knew it Gail sang the whole song and everyone was clapping wildly.

"Thank you!" Gail bowed and then said, "Any donations go in the bucket, if you have some money put it in there and help the homeless!"

When Gail got to school on Monday Lucy ran up to her immediately. "Did you hear the good news?!" she asked excitedly.

“No,” Gail replied, “What?”

They collected more than a million dollars for the homeless!" Lucy exclaimed, grabbing Gail’s hands and twirling her around. Gail smiled, now somebody else had a warm house and plenty of food to eat, and she had helped make it happen.

The Girl with the Purple Bonnet

Once there was a girl named Charlet. She was almost 10 years old and as rambunctious as a six year old boy. “I'm going out Mama!” she called as she flew down the stairs of their small house towards the door.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" her mother asked.

“Oh, right,” Charlet got a few crackers from the kitchen cupboard and started back towards the door.

“Something else?" her mother eyed Charlet’s bonnet on a hook by the door.

“Do I have to wear it?" she asked.

"Yes, you do," her mother said firmly.

“Fine, "Charlet said, planning on taking it off as soon as she was out of sight.

"I know what you're thinking,” her mother said.

"How can you know what I'm thinking when I haven't said it?" Charlet wanted to know.

"Mothers know, now keep the bonnet on," was the only response she could get.

“Yes Mama,” she said, running out the door.

"Ladies don't run!” Mama called after her, but Charlet was already gone. Mama sighed, she opened her sewing box and looked at the pieces of purple cloth inside it. This plan better work, if it didn't work, what would? Meanwhile, Charlet was exploring the woods behind their house. What was that glimmering in the distance? She slowly started walking towards it. Was that... a creek! Charlet ran and splashed into the glassy, clear water. After splashing around for a while, she decided to go back to the apple tree and have a snack of cracker and apple.

On her birthday Charlet woke up bright and early. She hurriedly threw on her favorite purple dress and ran downstairs to the special breakfast she only got to have once a year. She inhaled the warm smell of cinnamon pancakes and syrup. There were also apples from the tree outside, crackers, and whipped cream. For lunch she would be able to have whatever she wanted, Charlet wanted chocolate. For dinner they would have the usual pork and cheese cubes. The best thing about dinner was Charlet's best friend Anabel would be there. Charlet sat down and found a small red package at her place setting. "I thought we were going to save all my gifts for tonight," she said, delighted.

"We decided to give you one in advance,” her mother said as she sat down.

"But first let's eat this delicious breakfast while it's still hot," her father added. With that they prayed and dug into the hot breakfast. Charlet wanted to open her gift but a meal like this could not be rushed. Once they were all done eating (Charlet’s parents took longer than she did) Charlet opened her present. As she tore off the red paper, Charlet saw something purple. As she ripped off the rest of the paper, a purple bonnet and apron. "Uuuuum, thanks,” Charlet said, hanging the bonnet on a hook and putting the apron on. At least it was purple.

That night after dinner Charlet and Anabel scurried up to Charlet's room to play with her new doll (Anabel gave it to her). "I should have bought one of my dolls," Anabel said. "I'm bored."

Charlet sighed, “Me too," she said, then she brightened. "I know what we can do." Charlet led Anabel down the stairs and motioned for her to be quiet as they passed the kitchen, they grabbed their bonnets and rushed outside.

"I thought you weren't supposed to go outside after dark," Anabel said.

Charlet shrugged. “At least I'm wearing my bonnet," she said, “Besides, fall is here and it's getting dark so much earlier."

Anabel wasn't so sure. “But your mother said..."

Charlet interrupted, "I was going to wait until you could see yourself but I found a creek.”

Anabel instantly forgot about her fear, "Well what are we waiting for!"

"This is amazing! Want to explore further that way?" Anabel asked, pointing downstream.

"Sure!" Charlet said. The woods were beautiful at night with the trees silhouetted in the moonlight. The creek sparkled like a black pearl under the stars. They had been splashing and giggling for a while when Anabel saw something.

“Is that a CAVE?" she exclaimed.

"I hope so," Charlet said, running towards it. "It IS a cave," she said, pulling Anabel in.

"We shouldn't go in there," Anabel said, worried, "What if a raccoon lives there?"

Charlet rolled her eyes. “Racoons are nocturnal, so they're probably out getting dinner."

"What if they come back to eat it, and have us on the side!" Anabel exaggerated.

“You’re such a scaredy cat,” Charlet mumbled. Anabel would NOT be called a scardy cat.

"I found this cave so I'm going to be the first to go in it," with that Anabel squared her shoulders and marched in.

"What can I say, I know my friend," Charlet said as she followed her friend into the cave.

“Did you hear that?" Anabel asked. They were pretty far in the cave and she was getting scared again.

"Did I hear what?" Charlet asked.

"It sounded like a bat," Anabel said with a shaky voice.

"Did you say b-b-bats," if Charlet was scared of one thing it was bats. She shook it off. "It was probably just your imagination," she said. Both girls were silent for a minute, listening. Suddenly, Charlet screamed! A bunch of rocks fell, blocking the entrance to the cave.

"What is so terrible that you trapped us in here?” Anabel asked in a loud whisper.

"Something brushed against my back," Charlet told her.

“Do you think it was..." Anabel started.

“Bat!!" Charlet interrupted.

“I can finish my own question," Anabel said.

"No, there’s a bat flying over you!" Charlet yelled.

Now it was Anabel’s turn to scream. "We have to get out of here!” she was on the verge of tears.

"How?" Charlet asked.

"We have to stay calm!" Anabel didn't sound very calm.

"Ok stop screaming," Charlet was screaming herself.

Anabel took a deep breath. “Ok, there has to be some way out of here, we just need to find it," she said.

"Ok,” Charlet said, “There's a crack of light over there, maybe we can widen it and get out." Anabel looked at the crack and tried to think where it would be on the outside. “We can dig with rocks," she said.

"Great idea!" Charlet said, looking for a sharp stone.

Anabel leaned back and sighed, "It feels like we have been digging for hours and all I've done is ruin my best dress." Charlet couldn't deny that it had been hours but she could deny that they weren't getting anywhere.

"We did get somewhere," she said. “Now I can stick my hands through the hole and wiggle them a little bit."

Anabel shrugged and then started singing. "I got a God who loves me, who watches over me-e. I got a God who loves me. He's every-thi-ing I ne-ed." Charlet joined in on the second verse. “I got a God who loves me with deep unfailing love. I got a God who loves me. He watches fro-om abo-ove.”

"God will give us strength to get out of here," Charlet whispered. Anabel nodded and they kept singing and digging.

"Charlet! Anabel! Is that you?" came a voice from outside the cave.

“Papa?” Charlet was almost scared to believe it was him.

"How did you girls get stuck in there?" he asked.

“Long story,” Anabel said.

"We’ll explain later,” added Charlet.

"Help! There are bats!" Anabel cried. Papa took his pipe and helped them move away the rocks until there was a hole big enough for the girls to fit through.

"Papa!" Charlet threw herself into his arms. After hugging his daughter and making sure she was ok, Papa became stern again.

“You two are in big trouble for sneaking out," he said.

"We're sorry Mr. Yearlington, we won't do it again,” Anabel assured him.

“I know you won't, now let's go home," Papa said, taking their hands.

"Do you know how I found these girls?" Papa asked Mama.

"Dear me, how?" Mama was quite startled by the earning's events.

"I heard them singing, ‘I got a God who loves me,’" he told her.

"I stitched those exact words on Charlet’s bonnet strap,” Mama said.

"It must have reminded us even though we didn't know," Anabel said.

"This sure is one special bonnet,” Charlet agreed.

“Not as special as God's love," Mama reminded them.

Grace, Rachle, and Emily

Grace was a sloppy tomboy. She took a bath every two months. She was 16 years old. Her sister Rachle loved all things nature and animals, she was 17 years old. Their friend Emily was very rich and very fancy. Her least favorite things were dirt, chipped nail polish, and messy hair. She was 16 years old.

One day in mid-November Rachel and Grace burst through the door to Emily's house. "Great news!” Rachle exclaimed.

"Woa!" Emily said, “You are NOT coming in my house with those muddy boots on.”

"Sorry,” Grace said, taking her shoes off.

“It's ok,” Emily said, “What's the news?"

"We get to go on a week-long camping trip," she exclaimed.

“A week in the wilderness!" Rachle said, "Isn't it exciting?”

“Yeah, exciting,” Emily said with no enthuseasum.

“It'll be great!” Rachle exclaimed, ignoring Emily.

"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.

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