Point of View

Mina had a storm-beast egg. One in four kids in Alorria was awarded care of one of the country's precious eggs and tasked with bonding to the unborn creature. For two years, she had devoted three hours a day to her egg, being sure to touch its shell so the growing beast could absorb her thoughts and feelings. If she'd done this correctly, then when it hatched, it would come out as a perfect match for her, and they'd be bonded mind-to-mind and heart-to-heart. She'd be its storm guardian, and it would be her storm beast.

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It wasn’t that I hadn’t done schoolwork. I’d done plenty. My lessons had been at the kitchen table, though. Science experiments were done in the bathroom or on the front porch—in case they exploded or leaked. I read books on my bed or on the couch or even floating in a kayak on the lake in front of our house.

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There was no Yankee game tonight, as the team was in Toronto finishing out a long road trip against the Blue Jays. So it wouldn’t be one of those nights when Nick and his teammates could hear the game being played across the street. Usually, they could tell immediately if something good, or maybe even great had just happened for the Yankees.

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You are a deep sea explorer searching for the famed lost city of Atlantis. This is your most challenging and dangerous mission. Fear and excitement are now your companions. The sea is calm. You climb into the narrow pilot’s compartment of the underwater vessel Seeker with your special gear. You peer out the thick glass porthole and see strange white fish drifting past, sometimes stopping to look at you — an intruder from another world.

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I took a deep breath and started to open the envelope again, but then I heard Mom come down the stairs. I knew it was Mom and not my stepdad, Paul, because she was humming a song, which she did a lot, especially in front of the bathroom mirror when she was putting on makeup. She had a pretty good voice, but she always said it was because of the bathroom acoustics. That was wrong, because my stepdad sometimes sang in the shower, and the acoustics didn’t stop him from sounding like a coyote.

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We wake up to the smell of smoke. At first it isn’t too bad, but then the smoke starts to sting and makes our eyes water, and by the time breakfast is over, the counselors say a decision has been made. The fire is still far away enough that we can’t see it yet, but to be on the safe side, Camp Wabanaski will be evacuated as soon as the buses get here.

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Until last summer I thought the only thing I had in common with that whale on the beach was a name.

I sat with Grandpa after collecting shells and driftwood scattered along the shore, and wildflowers from the dunes. The shells and driftwood were for Grandma, and the flowers were for the whale. Grandpa had asked how school was going, and I told him it was the same, which wasn’t good. I’d been at that school for two years and still felt like the new kid.

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1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease a deep dish pie plate or large baking dish with butter or cooking spray and set aside.

2. Combine the sliced apples with the sugar, cinnamon, and vanilla extract in a large bowl and mix until all of the apples are evenly coated. Pour into the prepared baking dish.

3. In a separate medium size bowl, combine the flour, oats, brown sugar, salt, and cinnamon. Pour in the melted butter and stir until well coated and crumbly. Sprinkle the crumb mixture evenly over the top of the apples.

4.Bake in the preheated oven for 45-60 minutes until fruit is soft and the topping is golden brown. Allow to cool slightly before serving. Serve warm with vanilla ice cream on top. Enjoy!

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