Bambaloogy- by Naama Weksler

My hamster lives on the other side of the galaxy. I will never see her again. I cried for two hours when I heard the news that she died.

But I also remember the story of how I got her, and I will tell you. Well, it all started when we went to Lucky Dog Pet Shop. There were parrots, rats, and mice, white as the moon. But I knew I wanted a hamster. I walked over to the hamster cage and there were about ten hamsters curled up in a purple hamster ball. She was at the bottom, a little coffee cream ball, not like the others. My parents talked to the man at the counter. He came over and lifted the purple ball like it was a plum. Nine hamsters ran out, but Bambaloogy stayed right where she was. I said, “That one!” We got her cage and went home.

Bambaloogy was a genius. Whenever I opened her cage, she would come running to me. The first time, my friend Uma saw it happen. She said, “Whoa!” and fed Bambaloogy some sunflower seeds. She was so tiny, about as big as two scrumptious marshmallows. She never bit me, not even once. Bamboloogy was my best friend in the world. She was my “Beeny Deen, the Little Queen”!

I remember- by Adrian Shore

I was skateboarding wearing Keens on Friday. Keens are a type of comfortable shoes. I only skateboard on Fridays, Sundays, and Wednesdays.

My Keens were strapped onto my skateboard, so I could jump, but the trucks got stuck and I couldn’t turn. I was freaked. I was calling out for help like a wild boar trapped in a cage. I was heading for a pole. “Mama, Mama,” I called, but she didn’t come. Of course, my mom didn’t come because she was at a party across the street. I was sad that she didn’t come because I was very scared.

Then, after that, well, that’s my secret. I learned not to skateboard in Keens again because it’s not worth the silent scream of agony. And besides, I don’t skateboard. I don’t want to ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever again—except for sometimes. Well, I don’t really know if I do or not. Maybe, maybe not.

A Special Home by Dewi Zarni

I first lived in D.C., then Chicago, then Berkeley, (which some people call Berzerkeley). My favorite was D.C. I loved the snow all white; it was like the clouds had dandruff. I was six months old. We lived in a big house that we shared with our friends. I slept in a white room with wall-to-wall carpet that had a little slide near my bed. I had all my friends down the hall, and my godmother across the street. We had a pink cherry blossom tree outside and it looked magical in the spring. There was a group of kids who lived across the street and whose parents neglected them because their families were poor. Their parents had to always work. So my mom let them come over and play. One kid's brother was in a wheelchair and his parents put him on the street to watch the cars go by.

My friend Lila (she was seven), liked to press the ice machine until there was a pile of nearly melted ice for someone to clean up. But, nobody noticed because I was going on the slide with my friends from across the street and my mom was trying to get me to say mama, "Say Mama, Say Mama" which I finally said. She looked like she was going to sing Joy to the World.

Then Chicago. My room was almost the same; except for I had more Spanish things because of my Spanish speaking babysitter. My mom told her to mostly speak Spanish to me so I would learn. The other thing I had in my room was my own boom box so I could play Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.

Then last was Berkeley. When we moved from Chicago all our friends from D.C. moved to Berkeley. So I almost knew everybody on my block. I'm not going to tell you anymore about Berkeley because that story hasn't ended yet and I hope it never will.

The Home on Magnolia Street by Adam Stein

The home on Magnolia Street was very small. It was small like a classroom. But, if you went inside it seemed big. My sister always was calling for me, “Adam, Adam!” “What,” I would say. She wanted to go to my next-door neighbor’s house because they had a trampoline.

We always would go and bounce at my neighbor’s house. My neighbor, Sophie shared her backyard with us. My sister and I would ask our dad or our baby-sitter to jump really high. Boing! Woo Hoo!

Then my mom would call us in for dinner. Sometimes Sophie would have dinner with us. For dinner we always had noodles and Sophie’s favorite food was noodles.

The home on Magnolia Street was special to me because we got to the neighbor’s house and they got to come to ours. This made us become good friends.

Sometimes, I still see Sophie and go over to her backyard, even though I live far away now. Once she came over to Berkeley and came into our new backyard.

The new house in Berkeley has a garden and there are pods hanging from the trees. But, it’s still not as special as the house on Magnolia Street. Maybe, it will be special to me one day.

My Grandfather by Sana Azim

My grandfather was part of the government that helped the lives of people from the Maldives. My grandfather was very young at this time. He built schools and educated people--it was like the whole world was on his shoulders. This happened when my country changed from kind to president. But that didn’t stop him from doing anything. He kept doing what he did and now all the people in the Maldives are smart and kind. But that’s not where the story ends.

There was a horrible president. He locked up my family and my mom was left alone in the house at 12 years old. My family had to write on their clothing while they were in jail. They wrote secretly so the police wouldn’t see, and then sent the clothing out. Everybody that was there in my house would try to read the clothes. I still don’t know what the clothes said.

The weird thing was that the president sent my family to jail for no reason. But, now they have gotten out and my house is full of happiness. I know the president will try to strike again, but I’m praying that he won’t. Since my country is so small, it will be easy for him to find us. He might try, but he won’t. I pray as hard as I can every night, and since my prayers have hit the sky so hard, I know he won’t get us. But I know he won’t quit, either. I try to visit the Maldives every year to see if everybody is okay because the people in my family are the best friends they could ever be—they are my family.

My Reflection:

I remember when my mom told me how my family got locked up in jail for doing a good deed. But the president didn’t care about that, all he cares about is himself and that’s the thing that makes me mad because I am the opposite of him and I care about my family. I never want to see them suffering, hurt, or crying.

I care about my country, the Maldives because it is my home and I will never forget it. The special things in the Maldives are what fill my heart with love.

So that night I prayed that the president would stop being so mean to my family. Since my prayers hit the sky so hard, I know they will come true. I know I will get an answer. Some day it will hit me and that day is now.

Stuart’s Shoes- by Stuart Muerth

Hi, I’m Stuart’s shoes. I will tell you about my life. At 8:30a.m., Stuart wakes me up, and we walk to school (or his mom drives). Except on Saturdays and Sundays, we stay home.
Back to the story... when we get to school, I walk in on the carpet, then stand on the cold floor while Stuart puts his lunch away. Then finally, I settle in on the carpet for class. I usually can’t wait until break. It’s my second favorite time of the day. My favorite is lunch!
The first thing I like about lunch is that it’s an hour long. The second reason I like it is I get to run around and play games. I like to be outside, doing whatever I want.
At the end of the day, I’m tired. Stuart takes his last steps on me as we enter the front door. He uses his toe to push me off his foot. I go to sleep on the shoe rack at 3:10, 2:10, 5:31, or 8:00, depending on the day.

Sara Cline’s Free Concert--by Elliott Jones

I was first inspired to become a trombonist by my uncle, he was a trombonist and he was a little older than I am now. He was a really good trombonist and that’s what inspired me to be a trombonist. My uncle let me try out playing it. I liked it.
It was Christmas so he gave it to me. I took it home. My mom thought it would be one of those things that would just hang around the house. But, no, I wanted to take lessons and so we arranged for that to happen.
We found my teacher on the Internet. It was fun because I was going to become a trombonist. At first, I was scared but soon I overcame my fear. Soon, the first day of trombone lessons came. I met my teacher. Her name was Sara Cline. I could tell I was going to have a good time in her studio.
When the end of the lesson came my mom got sold a book. It was the book I had been playing out of throughout the lesson. It was called Ed Seuta Band Method Book 1.
I could play very loud and very soft. I like putting my mouth on the mouthpiece. It feels like I’m putting my mouth on a metal thingy (which is exactly what I am doing).
A trombone is a trombone, not a mini tuba. But, still when I play it, I feel like I’m playing one. It feels good to play trombone. It’s satisfying.
Later in the year, my teacher was in a concert. I wrote a poem.

It went like this:

The music sounded like a musical,
It was weird,
Even though somebody had a beard.
It was fun,
So afterward we went to eat a bun.